


Give Me A Taste of What You're Really Like

by West_Coast_Moper



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Joe is brendone, M/M, Patrick kind of hates him, Pete's a little shit in denial, Pete's kind of a stalker, Peterick, So is Patrick, and so is brendon, for awhile, that's okay though, they're kind of rivals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4521720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/West_Coast_Moper/pseuds/West_Coast_Moper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete's absolutely convinced there's something up with his coworker and no he doesn't have a crush, like at all and he's definitely not fucking obsessed, fuck you Trohman.</p><p>In which Pete and Patrick are rivals and Pete wants revenge so why not seduce poor little Patrick?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Pete Gets Caught Saying Patrick Murders People For hats.

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of like an intro, I SHOULD STOP STARTING STORIES BEFORE I FINISH OTHERS. -supposed to be a one shot but then I saw potential, also I'm lazy-

Pete's absolutely convinced there's something up with his coworker and no he doesn't have a crush, like at all and he's definitely not fucking obsessed, fuck you Trohman.

 

This whole entire mess began when a certain man named Patrick Stump arrived a few weeks ago, transferring from his old department, for well, personal reasons and Pete's rather interested in finding out just what those reasons were.

 

He thought about asking Patrick himself, but he's not an idiot..Well he tries not to be.

 

Pete even tried to let it go, nonetheless he's a major snoop and he somehow finds himself sneaking around his work interrogating people about this cute, yet mysterious newbie, and okay, he's aware of the man's appearance and yeah, he's attractive, especially with that mouth, but of course y'know clearly not a crush.

 

Besides, the only knowledge Pete managed to collect was a name and the fact that the dude has an enormous appreciation for Bowie. In truth he doesn't really know why he's so curious or why he even cares, whatever it doesn't matter, he'll figure it out eventually, 'cause at the moment he's gotta deal with Joe and Brendon, who he actually calls close friends, granted they're kind of douche bags but he loves them all the same.

 

Well he would if they would stop ragging on him, and continuing to bang on about him being in denial and something else about if he doesn't pull his head out of his ass sooner or later Patrick's gonna be off the market, to which he asked "Okay, how'd you even know he's single?" and Joe replied "We have...connections." Connections? With who? Sally the woman who delivers the donuts? Fuckin' please.

 

Pete quirks an eyebrow, skeptical. "If you have connections, why don't you answer the little questions I actually want to know?" He asks, crossing his arms, a smug smirk curling upon his lips when no words erupt from the two nuisances. Joe sighs, laying his hand on Pete's desk to lean forward, "That's not the point, alright?" He growls, "You are in a complete state of denial."

 

Pete stares at the two, his expression hardening, before finally a full fledged glare envelopes his face.

 

"I'm not in denial, you're just delusional." He shakes his head, turning back to his desktop, to finish whatever work he was previously designated to do, faltering in his movements when he realizes he has literally no clue in what he was originally suppose to do, fuckin' fantastic.

 

"God damn it." He swears softly, making a hurried motion to sort through the stack of paper on top of his desk.

 

Brendon tilts his head, placing his hands on his hips, his normally frequent smile contorting into a frown.

 

"Why do you even care?" Brendon questions, "I mean, what does it matter what he came here for?"

 

"Kind of busy at the moment Brendon." Pete waves him off, "I already told you I'm not sure, he's just..suspicious?"

 

Pete's really not sure what it is about the guy that's so unusual, nothing much honestly, but Pete can't help but put up his guard every time he's around him, which kind of reminds him of what he does when he gets a c- No, he absolutely positively does not have a god damn crush.

 

"Suspicious? What do you think he does? Murder people with hats, and then snag 'em when he's finished?"

 

A disgruntled noise escapes the back of Pete's throat. "That would explain all of the hats though!"

 

"Pete for the love of-" Joe cuts himself off, eyes widening in horrified realization. Pete glances at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

 

"Uh." Brendon says, "Look." He lifts a finger pointing in the direction behind Pete.

 

Pete turns and his eyes lock with a another, well, the hat lover himself, who doesn't look too pleased if the scowl on his face is anything to judge by.

 

"Excuse me, but I don't murder people in my spare time, thank you very much." He hisses, eyes flashing..

 

"That's exactly what a murderer would say." Pete mutters, returning back to rummaging through his pile of files.

 

"Pete, oh my god." Joe says, clenching his eyes shut while bringing a hand up to his forehead.

 

Pete snaps his head up abruptly, squinting his eyes, he turns back to the _man_ , "How'd you even know we were talking about you, huh? We didn't use a name."

 

"How many times do you think I get made fun daily for just the hat thing?" The man asks, rolling his eyes and his scowl deepening into a glower, Pete can practically feel the go fuck yourself vibes.

 

Pete shrugs, "Whatever hat man, care to tell us your real name?" He already knows it, yeah, but that would be pretty creepy to just all of a sudden announce, he knows his stalker tendencies are out of control, he's just not quite ready to accept it.

 

The man exhales loudly, as if telling his name is a huge burden on his everyday life..drama queen.

 

"It's Patrick." He says after a moment, "Now, I'd prefer Patrick to hat man, thanks."

 

Pete lets a wide grin form upon his face, "I mean, yeah we'll call you Patrick to your face."

 

"Excuse me?" Patrick seethes, voice sounding half an octave higher than before and his face flushing red from anger, spreading down to his neck.

 

Pete gives a snide smirk and snaps his fingers, "You're excused." Waving, he continues, "Goodbye fedora boy, don't come again."

 

Patrick stares at him, mouth agape, a second passes before he swiftly shuts it, Pete leans against his hand, grinning ever so slightly with just a pinch of smug.

 

"Fine, but this isn't over, mark my words..Peter." Patrick gives a dark smile and then proceeds to leave the room.

 

All three of them stare after him in silence, Brendon's the first one to break it. "Why'd he know your name?" He asks, scratching at his head lazily.

 

Pete narrows his eyes and huffs, "That's something I'd like to know." He says, giving a slight chuckle afterwards. "Maybe he's a stalker too."


	2. I've Got A Bad Idea, Guess What It Is Yet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete's new fear is Patrick Stump combined with a bottle of glue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (((((;

Pete probably should've took Patrick's little "warning" to heart, but he didn't, he's not scared. Patrick literally looks like he's twelve, gorgeous, but twelve. Pete's accepted the fact that Patrick's attractive, but that's not the point. He's definitely not afraid of him, maybe he should be, nah, Patrick's like three feet tall, he's fine.

 

At least that's what he thinks, until he's sitting in the break room, enjoying his lunch,  he then moves to stand up and throw his trash away, but unfortunately finds himself stuck to his god damn seat, what?

 

"What the fuck?" Pete blurts out, squirming in his seat, why the fuck can't he get out of his chair, who the fuck did this? Honestly he shouldn't even ask that question, he knows for sure it was a certain fedora clad figure that he hates with the utmost amount of passion he's ever had for anything or anyone.

 

"Patrick, you are so fucking dead."

 

"I thought I was the murderer." A low voice murmurs from a few feet away, Pete jumps in surprise, fuck, if Pete could he'd stand up right this second and march his way over to smash his fist square into Patrick's pretty little mouth.

 

"Did you fucking put glue on the seats?!" Pete demands, eyes wide and blazing with anger, while his mouth is open in shock, he's completely dumbfounded and was certainly not expecting Patrick the deemed "Nice guy" of the office to pull such an immature prank on him.

 

"No." Patrick declines, shaking his head, "I glued one seat, precisely yours."

 

Pete closes his mouth, narrowing his eyes, "I'm surprised a gnome like you could pull something like this." He sneers, making Patrick growl.

 

"You're only two inches bigger than me!" Patrick squawks, flailing his arms furiously.

 

"Calm down chicken, two inches is a lot, especially in a certain downstairs area." Pete grins, craning his neck to get a good look at Patrick's reaction, the grin wipes from his face, turning into a frown when Patrick doesn't come into view, where did the tree stump go?

 

He flinches when he feels a hand clutch at the nape of his neck, twisting him not so gently to face a rather pissed off Patrick.

 

"Well, hi there." Pete drawled , hiding the fact that he's fuming, almost lightheaded from the fury coursing throughout his body.

 

Pete yelps when the hand on the back of his neck squeezes, "Patrick, let me go before I kick you in the nuts with my unfortunately for you free legs." He sort of has this thing with his neck that he doesn't like anyone knowing about, seriously nobody.

 

It's embarrassing, okay?

 

Patrick traces a fingertip over his collarbone lightly, making him shudder. "Patrick." He warns, throat feeling tight and itchy, "Stop that right now." He feels..funny? Like, what Patrick's doing right now isn't terrible, he's not really sure how he feels about it, but what he does know is that he wants it to stop, right the fuck now.

 

Patrick meets his gaze, eyes dark and pupils blown, with the slightest red tint growing across his face. By the heat of his cheeks Pete's just gonna assume he's mirroring the complexion and he's never been more grateful for his tan skin to mask his flush.

 

Patrick bites his bottom lip, switching his gaze from Pete's eyes to his mouth,

 

Pete follows the action intently, a shiver running up his spine, he's pretty sure he's visibly shaking and great, now he's even more embarrassed.

 

Pete's eyes widen even more when Patrick begins to lean in, no, no, no. Pete's starting to feel overwhelmed, head turning fuzzy, almost into a blur. He starts to close his eyes reluctantly leaning in at the same pace of a snail, mimicking Patrick.

 

He snaps his eyes open in realization of what he's doing, lurching back quickly, he kicks his foot out to hit Patrick in the promised area as he said before, but turns out he's got poor coordination and he ends up hitting Patrick in the shin.

 

Patrick lets out a keen of pain, hopping up and down on his unharmed leg, well at least Pete's good at ejecting force.

 

"What the actual fuck?!" Patrick exclaims, face pulled into a pained grimace, "Back the fuck off hat boy, I don't want your kisses." Pete growls, crossing his arms, he might not be able to move at the moment but he still wants to look intimidating.

 

Patrick freezes, the only movement being his excessive blinking, before he opens his mouth in mock offense, "Why would I ever want to kiss you?!" Patrick barks, "You're not that hot." He scoffs, "Get over yourself."

 

Patrick begins to fidgets nervously when he notices a glimmer in Pete's eyes, "Wow Patrick, 'Not that hot." So I'm still hot right?" Pete teases, "And besides, my lips are nice and inviting why wouldn't you want to kiss them?" He asks, tilting his head somewhat to show off his jaw.

 

Patrick swallows hard, "I-I I'd n-nev-never." He chokes out, the recently tinted blush turning into a fully bloomed crimson red.

 

Pete is feeling quite satisfied with himself at the moment, until Patrick shakes his head, body in a panic and scurries out of the room, Pete watches with a deadpan expression, before he lets out a loud laugh, he's totally winning, at least that's what he thinks until he becomes aware of the fact that he's still glued to his chair.

 

"God fucking damn it!"

-

After a ridiculous amount of time writhing and wriggling in a plastic chair, to which Pete actually ended up tipping the seat over, 'cause obviously he's just full of good luck, Joe and Brendon finally found him, on the floor in all his miserable glory.

Pete's kind of surprised he didn't get found sooner, but then again most people usually ;eave for lunch instead of staying in. In fact Joe and Brendon did in invite him to go out to eat, though he declined, reason being that he needed to get some extra work done. Pete takes note that he should've said yes because in the end he did not get shit done.

All he got was Joe and Brendon laughing at his shame for five minutes straight before they finally decided to help him out of his problematic position, they proceeded to help him up and yank him out of it, and oh wow, would you look at that, it's the material from the back of his pants on the chair.

He's so gonna ruin Patrick Stump's life.

-

After Pete explains what happened to Joe and Brendon, they're too busy in stitches, crying with laughter on his bed, before Joe sits up quickly making Brendon fall off the bed, Pete holds back a laugh 'cause he's a classy bloke and he's not about laughing at other's misery, okay, he's lying, he's definitely gonna laugh when he gets Patrick back.

 

A laugh bubbles up in his throat, a braying like noise erupting from his mouth, surrounding the room. Joe rolls his eyes at Brendon and then snaps his gaze back to Pete, "He leaned in?" He asks, gesturing a kiss with his hands and pressing them together, "Did you-"

 

Pete makes a high pitched shriek, "No! Of course not, holy fuck, gross." He gives a disgusted look and shakes his head in a frantic motion, "I don't know what the fuck he was trying to do, but I made sure I was not on board with it."

 

Joe stands up with a pillow in hand and strides over to Pete, grinding his teeth before he holds up said pillow and proceeds to whack Pete repeatedly with it.

 

Pete screeches, trying to get out of Joe's grasp, but to no avail, because somewhere along the way Brendon grabbed his arms and is now holding him in place as Joe beats him with the cushion.

 

"Sto-J- _Joe stop!_ " He shouts, thrashing around in Brendon's grip and the only result is Brendon's clutch tightening, which causes him to let out a pained whimper.

 

Joe stops at that, "Pete, what the fuck is wrong with you?" He demands, prodding a finger into Pete's chest.

 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Pete yelps, still trapped in Brendon's hands, he glares heatedly before attempting to shove his elbow back into Brendon's stomach, instead making precise impact with Brendon's rib, poor coordination isn't that terrible now that he thinks about it.

 

Brendon gives an agonized cry, letting him go quickly, "Dude, what the hell? Honestly." Brendon says, irritated, hands returning back to his hips again, for fuck's sake.

 

"Seriously what is wrong with you? If he wanted to kiss you-"

 

"Then he can kiss a fucking wall, or a maybe a lit flame, because I really don't give a shit." Pete says, wrinkling his nose, "I didn't want him to kiss me, big whoop."

 

Pete kind of did, but there's no way he's gonna admit it, sometimes at night he ponders on how that mouth feels, the soft curve of Patrick's bottom lip..if it's as soft as he imagines...and if Patrick would let him bite it, would he bite back? Wait, fuck, if his brain doesn't shut up right fucking now.

 

"Sure." Joe says, sighing. "Look this whole rivalry thing is stup-

 

Pete pulls his eyebrows together infuriated, his face flushed angrily, "It's not stupid and he's the one who decided to glue me to a fucking chair, okay?"

 

"Well..yes, that was immature but-"

 

"But what?!" Pete yells, throwing his arms up at his sides, "I'm getting that douche bag back, and I need your guy's help."

 

"You could always seduce him." Brendon says, chuckling to himself at the absurd thought, though cutting himself short when he sees the look on Pete's face.

 

"Oh god, Pete no."

 

A devious smile curls upon Pete's lips, "That's not necessarily a bad idea."

 

Joe covers his face, groaning. "Pete, please no."

 

"More like Pete, please yes." Pete responds, smile widening as he rubs his palms together, the plan already aligning itself into his brain.

 

"This is gonna be priceless!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)))))


	3. Pete's An Evil Genius And Patrick Is So Going Down.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all Pete's only an innocent little flower in the depths of this absurd chaos, Patrick's the one who started it, he's only aiming to finish it and boy is it gonna be quite a fantastic finale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't fill my bed with bees pls

Joe and Brendon are officially done with Pete, and Pete can't actually blame them, then again Brendon's the one who gave him the idea so lets switch the blame to him. They left a little while ago, rolling their eyes at Pete and his _completely _amazing__ plan by the way.

 

Pete's an evil genius and Patrick is so going down, well, when he figures out how he's gonna seduce him, he's surely gonna go down. Pete absolutely did not search how to seduce a guy on his internet browser, you can check his history and everything, what? No, of course he didn't delete it, he'd never do such a thing.

 

After all Pete's only an innocent little flower in the depths of this absurd chaos, Patrick's the one who started it, he's only aiming to finish it and boy is it gonna be quite a fantastic finale.

 

Pete hums quietly, clucking his tongue softly against the roof of his mouth as thoughts swarm throughout his head, what should he do? Joe just told him to drop a lot of pens, what an idiot, well, that'll probably be the first thing he tries, deliberately bending over slowly to pick them up and exposing the delicate though, inviting swell of his ass, why not? He might even shake it a little bit, wiggle in order to tease, but only slight, he can't be too obvious, that takes all the fun out of it. Maybe he'll "accidentally" fall to his hands and knees too, that'll certainly get a reaction.

 

Whether it's Patrick snorting out a laugh and commenting sarcastically about how he's got the elegance of a ballerina or instead staring at him intently with darkened eyes and gritted teeth.

 

Pete's hoping that it will be a flushed lusty gaze centered on him and not just an arch of a brow and a frown of the lips indicating that it didn't at all effect Patrick and he's clearly aware of what Pete's up to. That would just suck a whole lot.

 

Pete shifts on his couch, glaring at the television that's currently presenting a guy who actually resembles Patrick..Okay, he only has glasses, but hey, it reminds Pete of him, and yeah, Pete's obsessed, he'll admit it, but can you blame him?

 

Pete's out to get revenge and he's gonna succeed if he has anything to say about it...Alright he's sort of overreacting he knows that, it was just a stupid prank, but his ego has been wounded severely and he's not okay with that.

 

His actions weren't exactly dignified, but neither we're Patrick's like, who the fuck glues someone to a chair, what is he twelve? Wait...Well, if the shoe fits.

 

Pete groans, quickly grabbing his remote and turning the channel, which results in finding a commercial completely dedicated to selling hats. "Are you fucking serious?" Pete asks to no one in particular, eyes glowing bright from frustration and the flash of the television reflecting off of them, he slumps back into the seat and gives an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head he hits the power button to the TV remote and closes his eyes.

 

Maybe he should try to sleep, like actually try. Staying up is not gonna help his bags and having bags is definitely not gonna entice Patrick, unless he has a thing for guys who can't sleep, insomnia's a bitch.

 

Pete yawns loudly, covering his mouth, while tears prickle at the corners of his eyes, he twists his body to lay down, collapsing onto his back. He squints his eyes when he hears a quiet panting and the sound of not so tiny paws tapping against the wooden floor.

 

He tries to sit up, regretting it at the last second because now there's a Hemmy landing on top of his stomach, claws and all, pressing him back into the couch.

 

Pete lets out a yelp, similar to his own dog which does not help his pride in the least bit. He groans, trying to push Hemmy off of his now bruised chest, because now it's suddenly a little hard to breathe, "Hemmy, please I know you're only trying to cuddle, but come on, man." Pete whines and Hemmy imitates that whine.

 

Pete rolls his eyes, crashing back into the couch, defeated. "Fine, but I have one question for you, what the hell have you been eating?" He grumbles, a pout forming on his face and Hemmy lets out a shrill bark in reply.

 

Pete winces and sighs, "What am I gonna do with you." He says, carding his fingers through fur gently while glancing around in the almost fully darkened room, the moonlight glinting through the open window and tinting the room in a glow like state.

 

Pete lets loose another noisy yawn, his eyes shutting softly, although his lungs are being squished he somehow manages to fall asleep, if he's gonna be able to put his plan into action tomorrow he's gonna need to actually have energy.

 

Dreams of a familiar strong jaw with a mocking grin plastered to it and blackened eyes with a glimmer of satisfaction and a flicker of dominance are attached to a blurry man's face materializing in Pete's brain for the remainder of the night.

 

Is that a hat or just a shadow?

 

Pete won't remember anyway, at least that's what he'll say.

-

"Oh my god, shut your mother fucking mouth you self aggrandizing bastard!" Patrick yells, and yeah okay Pete's already failing the seduction plan because he practically threw it out the window when he decided to let his anger get the best of him when a certain Patrick Stump, "accidentally" spilled his orange juice on him and it was on his white button up, _white!  
_

 

"You're the one who dumped your fucking drink on me, you condescending-" Pete begins, but Patrick's definitely not having that.

 

Patrick gives a vicious laugh. "Me? condescending?! I think you have it wrong buddy!" He shrieks, driving his finger into Pete's chest. Pete narrows his eyes and swiftly clutches the hand currently abusing his chest.

 

"Don't call me buddy, douche bag." Patrick smirks, before quickly wrenching his hand out of Pete's grip and moving to grab him by the wrists, pinning him to the wall.

 

Pete squeaks, squirming in the hold, "Let me go right fucking now Patrick, I'm not something to play with!" He hisses, face flushed, Patrick trails his freehand over Pete's cheekbone, causing his breath to stutter, "Patrick."

 

"You seem like a toy to me." Patrick whispers darkly, leaning in till their noses touch gently. Pete gulps visibly, he can feel Patrick's breath hot and subtle against his mouth and that should be gross, he should be repulsed, but fuck, it's not and he probably isn't disgusted if the tightening of his jeans is anything to go by.

 

Pete's body is trembling slightly, arms twitching and he's once again overwhelmed, head filling with noise, static maybe? Blood is pounding in his ears and he can barely see straight. Patrick tilts his head, immediately noticing his panicked stature, he sighs, shaking his head and Pete can almost see a touch of sympathy,  _almost._

 

"Aw, Pete are you scared? I'm not gonna hurt you...Unless you want me to?" Patrick teases, tone of voice ending off in a sharp gravelly twist.

 

Pete shivers, before freezing, wait, if he really thinks about his position at the moment, Patrick could indeed be bluffing, as if..he had the same plan as Pete? Well no fucking way is he gonna let Patrick win.

 

Pete puts on a blank expression, he can't stop his body from reacting, but he needs to think of at least something he can do, maybe he should kick Patrick again? And he's just about to, before becoming aware of the fact that Patrick's confining his legs to the wall with his own, fuck.

 

"There's no escaping this, punk." Patrick murmurs, brushing a finger over the prominent bone from one of his wrists in what Pete would describe as a delicate manner. Pete frowns, eyes set ablaze, not sure whether it's from rage...or arousal.

 

"That's harassment." Pete mumbles, straining his neck to substitute Patrick's intense gaze with the stodgy wall across the room.

 

Pete's eyes widen in shock when Patrick's hand curls around his jaw, and jerks his head back to lock their gazes once again, "Look at me when I talk to you." Patrick growls, baring his teeth and then his lips quirk into a small grin, clear satisfaction manifesting itself onto his face.

 

"Are you sure it's harassment? From the way your body's reacting I'd say you want this.." Patrick whispers, eyes almost black, and if Pete's senses weren't so jacked up at he moment he'd be freaked out, but everything present at the moment is only making everything from the waist down that much hotter, scorching with heat and a great throb of pain surges through him.

 

Pete crunches his face up when he notices a faint hand creeping down his front...what? A soft noise erupts from his throat in question and then he lets out a high pitched noise, realizing what lewd deed Patrick's just about to do, he opens his mouth in protest, but the only thing that sounds is a breathy moan.

 

Patrick's hand is currently pressing and rubbing against his crotch and he thinks he's gonna die..or come, maybe both.

 

Pete unconsciously bucks his hips into the pressure, it chafes like hell, but he can't deny how good it feels and thinking with his dick instead of his brain he makes the choice to grind himself against it, letting little whimpers and quiet whines form and escape the back of his throat.

 

"P-Patrick I-" He tries to stutters out, however another mouth crushes against his, Patrick immediately licks his way in and they lazily make out against the wall, while Patrick pushes himself against Pete's thigh and continues to apply force to his dick.

 

Their tongues slide together and Patrick groans, tightening his hold on Pete.

 

Pete whimpers quietly, gently licking Patrick's bottom lip before pulling away to breathe, his chest heaving forward with the exertion.

 

Patrick's panting, gradually getting louder as he begins to move faster, Pete clenches his eyes shut, biting his lip to repress any noise attempting to blare from his lips.

 

Patrick keens, which tells Pete that he's close and so is he, "Patrick, I'm-"

 

"M-me too." Patrick chokes out, cutting him off. Patrick despite being in the midst of almost coming still has the the stamina to let a sadistic smile curl upon his lips as he rubs his hand even harder. "Come on Pete, give yourself over to me, y'know you want to, don't fight it, doll." Patrick says, voice gruff.

 

Pete's not fighting it and even if he was he obviously wouldn't win, he's on his way to coming, so close, so close-

-

Pete eyes snap open, wide awake, he's in his bed, body sweltering with heat, a thin sheen of sweat coating his body and his thighs wet, boxers leaking, he wrinkles his nose in disgust, god, he hates wet dreams, especially the ones he can't remember.

 

He's only ever came once before waking up though..Must have been a damn good dream.

 

Pete doesn't even remember falling asleep in his bed..Wait he woke up because Hemmy wouldn't stop snuffling against his neck, and making light yipping noises into his ear, he rolls his eyes, of course.

 

He ended up picking Hemmy up although, with great difficulty, and lying him aside on one of the other cushions before standing up and stumbling his way up to his bedroom, falling asleep in less than five minutes which is basically a record for him.

 

Pete looks at the clock on his bedside table and guess what, he's gonna be late for work.

 

Pete inhales deeply, frozen for a second before he scurries out of his bed and into the bathroom to take a quick shower, dream momentarily forgotten and the only things on his mind being about not getting fired and kicking a special little someone's ass.

 

A cackle echos from the bathroom before the noise of a door slamming shut resounds throughout the entire house.


	4. Your Eyes Move In Time With My Hips, In A Twisted Way I Enjoy It.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He snakes his tongue out to moisten his lips, which he's very aware of Patrick tracking said movement with a fierce eye. He hums in content until he feels the sensation of a cool droplet of liquid hit his hand--melting, guess he's just that hot, huh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((((((((((((((((((((((((;

Pete may or may not be hiding behind his desk at the moment, the plan's already going to shit right now--he can't even take a glance at Patrick without his face heating up--like he's on fire and he has no clue as to why. A small growl escapes him and he hears the sound of a clipboard dropping--oops. Seems he's scaring people now, fuck's sake.

 

Pete's mouth falls into a deep frown, while his eyes droop, he's so tired right now, he had to scurry throughout his house while tugging on his clothes with a mouthful of toothbrush just to make it on time, _oh god did he feed Hemmy,_ yes, yes he did, a sigh of relief escapes him..He didn't feed himself though he thinks miserably as his stomach churns and growls.

 

...Shouldn't he be working?--How the hell has he not been fired yet? Well, he's not that bad, he at least gets shit done...unlike some people...

Pete shakes his head, blinking his eyes wearily, and besides his manager likes him, kind of, sort of...okay, he doesn't actually know, he's like semi-sure he likes him, they're acquaintances, maybe.

He squints his eyes when he realizes how oddly silent it is--is--is that breathing on his neck?

He whirls around in his chair and ends up knocking into the cup of dulled pencils he always forgets to sharpen, thus leading them to clatter to the floor, he looks back and forth in frantic movements--no one-- he's so fucking paranoid lately, why is Patrick getting to him so bad? He's not suppose to be afraid of him god damn it. He's like a fucking doll!

 

Another growl escapes him, though louder this time, he's not about to fall to his knees and tremble--nope--and this has everything to do with the *plan* but if he can't even look at Patrick, how the fuck is he gonna speak to him? How the fuck is he gonna *bend over*--Maybe he's just out of it today, he didn't exactly get much sleep last night, unless you count his leaking boxers and he still has no idea what that was about.

 

Pete feels the familiar heat in his cheeks, he's been a flushed mess all day, but that's not important at the moment, his stomach's more important to him right now, he's kind of just hoping for lunch to come early, for he's hungry as fuck and he might be able to kick start his plan into action if he "accidentally" bumps into Patrick--as long as Patrick doesn't try anything first.

 

A sound of distress escapes him at the thought, he really doesn't wanna be glued to a chair again-- _not again._  He snaps his head up when a shadow drifts by--it's Patrick, oh god.

 

Pete ducks flailing his arms *ridiculously* behind his desk, and if that wasn't obvious enough, the pencils scatter more so all over the floor, and he might have even let out a soft, " _Nooo..._ "

 

He hears an frustrated sigh and a shuffle of the feet, closer--closer to him--fuck. "Pete, I have something for you." Patrick mutters, slapping a document on his desk, and he flinches, he can practically hear the almost violent eye roll Patrick's giving him. "I need you to edit it."

 

Pete peeks up over his desk, and arches a brow. "Why?" Patrick glares at him, clearly irritated from the fact that he has to speak to Pete in the first place. "Because I've seen your work and you're--" He shudders in disgust, "decent." He ends, his face twisted up into a grimace.

 

"If you think that's gonna make me say yes--" Patrick shakes his head, grimace quickly turning into a flash of panic, "Look, okay, I'm sorry I glued you to a fucking chair, but I need your help with this."

 

Pete pulls himself into a ruffled posture, nose held high in the air, he falters slightly when he sees the intense gleam in Patrick's eyes, that's familiar--whatever. "Why should I do it?" Pete asks, digging his nails into the wood of his desk, leaving light imprints. "I have my own work y'know--"

 

Patrick scoffs, crossing his arms. "'Cause you're totally doing it right?--you're not hiding behind a desk being immature or anything like that--"

 

Pete lets out the loudest growl he's pretty sure he's ever growled before and Patrick doesn't even move a muscle, no twitch, no nothing-- in fact his eyes even glisten and he drags back his upper lip to give a twisted snarl, growling even louder, over-shading his in order to make it in comparison almost a petite meow, and Pete's knees might buckle in response but he'd never admit it--he's just glad he's not standing up right now, not that Patrick's winning or anything, he's definitely not, alright?

 

Wait, he's suppose to seduce Patrick, so he can't be all defiant the way he is--fuck, okay Pete stop trying to be tough and "win"--just be the perfect little coworker, why don't you?--but y'know add a couple shakes of the tush in and maybe a few sensual grins at that.

 

"Fine." He announces loudly and Patrick's eyes widen in surprise while his arms fall limp to his sides. "What? Really?" He asks, bewildered. Pete nods, standing up straight. "I'll give it to you at the end of the day, 'kay?"

 

Patrick stares, body in a frozen like state as his facial expression has gone slack. "I--but you--okay, okay..thanks."

 

"No problem." Pete gives his toothiest grin--he knows people can't help but enjoy it even if they don't want to, and by the way Patrick's eyes soften somewhat locked onto him and his smile, he knows he's found a weakness.

 

But if he works hard enough, everything he does will be a weakness. He internally cackles and rubs his palms together slightly, though he stops when Patrick gives him a strange look, oops.

 

"Well, uh, later?" Patrick *awkwardly* bids his farewell, and treads away lightly, looking back over his shoulder as if to say he's watching Pete. Good.

 

He can fucking do this, he's gonna win, gonna win--wait--win what? The sense of superiority? Whatever, that doesn't matter, it's not just about that, it's also about revenge, Patrick started this, like he said before he's just gonna finish it.

-

Lunch, lunch, lunch. Pete's practically salivating at the thought right now, needs to eat--needs. He skips into the break room, stopping in his tracks when Patrick comes into a view, sitting peacefully in a chair, head tipped back, and earbuds inserted into his ears and Pete can faintly hear the distant melody from where he's standing.

 

Patrick looks strangely beautiful from a *certain* point of view, which isn't his by the way, whatever he came in here for his food not to think about Patrick, he's already thinking about him half the time anyway--god he is obsessive, he's already finished editing that document, might as well hand it over now, the sooner the better.

 

Pete taps Patrick on the shoulder and he sits up quickly, removing his ear plugs, he cranes his neck to glance at who decided they could touch him, his blank expression folds into a frown when he sees Pete, and--Pete's just gonna have to change that.

 

"I finished editing your little "problem" by the way, it wasn't even that bad." At that Patrick gives him a real genuine smile, and Pete's stomach may sort of flutter, but he'll blame that on the hunger pains.

 

"That's great, fuck, thank you." Pete nods, and spins around to walk over to the fridge, rummaging through until he discovers a wrapped ice pop, not really lunch material, but he'll deal for now.

 

Pete strolls over to flop down in the seat across from Patrick, and oh, he's got an idea--it may be a little cliche--but why not? He ghosts a smirk before slurping the pop into his mouth, making the most lewd noises he can muster, and Patrick jerks his head up to gaze at Pete with large eyes, pupils somewhat dilating.

 

He hollows his cheeks and suckles, and y'know this taste good and all, but the look on Patrick's face is really what's doing it for him right now. Darkened almost black eyes and a flushed bottom lip from being bit too hard, his eyes half lidded, and cheeks tinted with an ever so slight crimson red.

 

Pete mimics Patrick's earlier position and tips his head back, baring his throat, arching his back and he hears a ragged huff of breath. satisfaction and amusement swell in his chest, and the fluttering in his stomach has turned into a swarm, which doesn't make a lot of sense--that's not important, what is important is getting back to the task at hand, he resumes his slurping before pulling off with an audible pop.

 

He snakes his tongue out to moisten his lips, which he's very aware of Patrick tracking said movement with a fierce eye. He hums in content until he feels the sensation of a cool droplet of liquid hit his hand--melting, guess he's just that hot, huh?

 

The corners of his mouth turn upward before he brings his hand up to his mouth and makes sure Patrick's looking at him before he *slowly* licks up his fingers and laps gently, tracing the crease of his hand, and Patrick looks like he's about to lurch forward and attack him--but he likes that--loves it even, he wants to be attacked--jumped--and he likes the almost animal like passion running throughout Patrick's gaze, it's rapid and exciting and Pete's never really felt this way, a fog drifts over his brain as he sets the flavored ice down on the table's surface, and inhales deeply--attempting to settle his nerves--he's too excited, and he can feel his dick hardening through his jeans and it fills so fast he gets light headed and his vision blurs.

 

He shifts somewhat, trying to ease fiction-- _or gain more_ \--and a soft moan manages to escape the back of his throat. Patrick jolts, standing up in a flash, accidentally spilling his water in his haste and he groans, placing a hand to his temple.

 

"Um, can I get the edit--please?" Pete tilts his head and notices Patrick's eyes moving--running down the line of his throat, and he feels a throb in between his legs-- _fuck._

 

"Sure, um, yeah." How the fuck is he gonna hide his erection--oh god, he glances down to yank at his shirt to lower it and cover his little "dilemma". He not so discreetly glances at Patrick's crotch and notices a slight tint in his jeans which causes a surge of pride to swell within him, looks like he's not the only one effected by this little stage of mischief.

 

Yeah Pete can definitely do this.

 

Pete stands up with *great* difficulty--his shirt's thick and lengthy enough to mask the front of his jeans so he's in the clear, Patrick on the other hand...His lips curl into a smirk and he licks them unconsciously, then again he's not really thinking about what he's doing. It kind of just feels--natural.

 

Maybe he's just naturally slutty.

 

"Follow me, then." Pete murmurs, gesturing one his fingers in Patrick's direction, as he saunters calmly out of the room, and his hips are probably swaying back and forth a little more than usual, but it's all in good fun.

 

In fact he's sure this is gonna be very  _*fun*_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)))))))))))))))))))))))))


	5. I Keep My Jealousy Close, 'Cause It's All Mine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete needs a new tactic--Joe and Brendon are his answers.

It's been about a month since the little *Popsicle* incident and Pete's been trying to make Patrick's life utter torture--bending over at the most inconvenient times--grinding his ass against Patrick's crotch *accidentally* of course--swaggering his hips whenever he walks just to put on that little show he knows Patrick's watching--this all seems to have a lot to do with his ass, well...if that's where he wants the attention..

 

But none of this is having the desired effect--and by desired effect he means Patrick throwing him against a random desk and just goin' to town. He doesn't actually know when this turned into a challenge to get Patrick to fuck him--instead of a scheme of humiliation. He's not really obliged though, it could be both? But if he lets Patrick do that to him, it could easily backfire..well, even if this is becoming a change of plans--he really does indeed want Patrick to fuck him. hard. ravish him like he's some rare limited edition Bowie record for fuck's sake.

 

It's also been kind of quiet--like they're not trying to murder each other as much anymore, quiet--for once--probably because Pete's at least made an attempt to keep the peace, there was one little dispute--and okay yeah it was about someone drinking the last coke--but that's not the point, okay?

 

Whatever, what is the point really is the *desired effect* and Pete's not getting it, he needs to try something else--so being the genius he is he goes to Joe and Brendon.

 

"What?" Joe asks eyes wide, lurching forward over the table of the booth and Pete can barely even register what he's said over the booming beat of the speakers--why of all places are they at a club?

 

"I need your guy's help." He repeats, "After you--oh so helped me the first time--"

 

"Hey I gave you the idea to even do this--" Pete groans, slumping against the table's surface. "I hate you guys, why is the world so cruel to me?" He moans in distress, squirming lightly. "Can't you asshole's help me?"

 

Brendon rolls his eyes and moves to cross his arms atop of one another. "With what?" He asks, and Joe gives a sudden boisterous laugh. "You want him to fuck you don't you?!" He demands and Pete snaps up, sputtering. "What?!" He scoffs, "I would never absolutely never--"

 

"Sure." Brendon mutters, taking a sip of his beer. "Why is it you can't just admit to shit."

 

"Because I totally don't want his dick anywhere near my--" He cuts himself off as head blurs and his eyes go misty at the thought, though the mist clears when Joe whacks him in the shoulder. "Slow your roll, lover boy." He shakes his head in disapproval. "For one thing do you guys still hate each other with that utmost of passion normal lovers crave."

 

Pete tilts his head, wrinkling his nose at the comment. "I don't know, maybe?" He answers, breathing out a sigh of frustration. "I mean you guys haven't killed each other yet." Brendon adds and Joe nods. "Point."

 

"I'm pretty sure we'd get fired if we tried--" Brendon snorts into his glass. "Or y'know prison."

 

"But that's not the point, okay!" Pete growls, waving his arms and *accidentally* smacking Brendon's ear in the process. "Okay do you want me to help you, or do you want me to slap you?"

 

"Why not both?" Pete waggles his eyebrows, scooting closer. "I will hurt you." Brendon promises, flicking him in the shoulder which Pete exaggerates a cry of pain at, and grasps at the recently abused area. "Why must you bring these rich pains upon me--"

 

"Aren't we suppose to be focusing." Joe breathes, exhaling heavily in annoyance and they're all silent for a few seconds, whether they're thinking or trying to figure out if they have brains or not--there is currently a lot of alcohol in their systems at the moment.

 

"Wait!" Brendon squawks making the other two flinch, "Jesus, what?" Pete groans, bringing his hand up to clutch at his chest.

 

"I have an idea." Joe blinks, his mouth dropping into a frown. "Why is it you who always has the ideas." Brendon shrugs. "'cause I'm more awesome, duh." He says like it's the most obvious thing in the world, "Anyway, Pete you should wear a skir--"

 

"No, no, no." Pete repeats, shaking his head frantically, "I will not, under any circumstances wear a fuckin' skirt."

 

Brendon gives him an exasperated look. "But--" Pete slams his fist against the table, hissing out, "A thousand times no, holy shit!" Patrick is not gonna bring him to the depths of wearing female clothing--no he is not.

 

"Fine, god, calm down." Brendon sighs, patting him softly on the forearm. "We won't make you wear the panties, regulate your heart rate."

 

"Trying." Pete replies, a big miserable pout forming on his face before he yanks his arm away, growling. "I'll wear the god damn panties if I god damn want to!" Brendon arches a brow at him and opens his mouth to ask, "Are you saying yes or--"

 

"No!" Pete barks and Brendon reels back. "Alright, no panties then." He shakes his head. "Cross it off the list." Joe gives a snort of laughter. "Crossin' it."

 

"And never suggesting it ever again." Pete announces, raising his fist and Joe grins, while bobbing his head to the music. "Okay..What then?" They all go silent again, and Joe tips his head back closing his eyes, while Brendon taps the tip of a finger to his chin and mutters of "Maybe...?--No, no, that'll never work." Surround them, until Pete finally slumps against the table again groaning.

 

"Pete is this really that problematic--" "Yes!" Pete crows, puffing his cheeks out. "It is!"

 

"Okay, okay..." Joe says, attempting to mollify the situation. "Wait--we could like, go old school and try jealousy.." He announces, hands held out and fingers spread. Pete hums in thought. "That's not actually a bad idea." Brendon makes a skeptical sound. "I don't know--"

 

"Come on, like--" Brendon quickly interrupts whatever Joe was gonna say with, "Wait, who would he do it with?" and Pete squeaks at that causing Brendon to jump, eyes widening. "Not what I meant, oh my god."

 

"Well, he could try it with one of us?" Joe suggests and Pete furrows his eyebrows. "But who?"

 

"How about me?" Brendon grins, copying Pete's previous movements and scooting closer. "Or me." Joe adds, rolling his eyes.

 

And the same silence falls over and Pete's getting sort of annoyed by that so he decides to break it with, "Why not both?"

 

Joe and Brendon both stare at him for a moment before grins curl upon their faces and Pete mimics the same devious smile.

 

"Sounds perfect."

                                                                                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Which kind of brings them to the point where Pete's leaning over his desk to check an email on his computer and Joe may or may not be bent over him with his chin hooked around his shoulder while Brendon's sitting in a chair next to them and pouting.

 

"Why am I just sitting here--what am I suppose to do?" He whines, kicking his feet gently against the side of the desk and Pete rolls his eyes before holding out of his hands. "Here, hold my hand." Brendon arches a brow at the gesture. "Really?" He asks, bemused and Pete nods.

 

Joe gives a huff of laughter, "Well, we're using jealousy tactics and this office is full of a ridiculous amount of sexual tension--we're clearly in ninth grade again, man."

 

Brendon slumps, letting out a lengthy sigh and then brings up his hand to curl his fingers together with Pete's. "Honestly, this is gonna turn into a damn game of tug-of-war."

 

"What the fuck--am I the rope?!" Pete demands, email momentarily forgotten. Brendon cracks up, choking back laughter he answers. "Yes, the distraught little emo princess."

 

"I will break your pretty boy face." Pete promises, growling slightly before turning back to his computer to reply to whatever email he doesn't actually care about.

 

"If you think that's an insult you need a reality check--besides you're one to talk guyliner." Brendon says, the last part muttered beneath his breath. Joe makes a noise of discomfort. "When the fuck is he suppose to walk by, 'cause this position isn't gonna last Pete."

 

"You must impress the girls with that talk." Pete murmurs, eyes flicking back and forth between rows of idle words while the computer light reflects against them. "Anyway, he should be coming in...three...two...one." And okay, that was kind of creepy because there's Patrick walking by and doing his daily rounds, but he stops dead in his tracks when he sees the scene before him.

 

Which is probably absurd at least that's what Pete thinks with the way he's bending over with his arm stretched out straining to grasp at Brendon's hand.

 

But from the slight fury building in Patrick's stature--Pete's gonna assume it's a little *suggestive* Brendon sits up and presses his lips to Pete's cheek and Patrick's throat clicks as a growl bubbles up, and Pete feels Joe smirk against his neck and then nuzzles softly into the warm skin of his collarbone.

 

Patrick grits his teeth and grumbles out, "Get a fucking room." Before storming off, seething almost and Pete can practically feel the heat radiating off of his form.

 

"Wow." Brendon marvels and Joe lets go of Pete, beginning to laugh his ass off. "I-I di-didn't expect that t-to happen." He chokes out, leaning against the wall. Pete's mouth curls into a smirk as he stands up, and stretches to expel the kinks from his spine.

 

He twists a little bit before sighing. "I didn't either." Not really what he wanted--but he'll take it, hopefully it will have some effect.

 

"Well, the only thing we really can do at the moment is wait." Brendon mutters and Pete nods. "Yep, but we still have a plan--what is the plan?"

 

"We do not have a plan." Joe announces, finally regaining his breath. "Fuck." Pete groans, bringing a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "Why do we suck at this so much?"

 

"Well, we're not that bad did you see how mad he was--Jesus." Pete grins, wiggling in excitement. "And what's that mean?"

 

Joe rolls his eyes. "He likes you--kind of--maybe it's lust, who knows?" Brendon clucks his tongue. "It's probably lust right now."

 

"Good I don't have feelings for him--it's straight attraction--okay?!" Pete growls, giving a glare as if to challenge them to go up against his claim. Brendon puts his hands up in surrender. "Calm, we're not gonna say anything right now."

 

"Great." Now all he has to do--what does he have to do?

 

"Seriously, we need a fuckin' plan." Pete says, slapping a hand to his forehead. "Well, I mean we've kind of been winging it--let's just see where the wind takes us--or in this case the fedora clad beauty that wont leave your mind."

 

" _Back off._ " Pete growls, crossing his arms. "Whatever--jealousy is the plan I guess."

 

"Yep." Joe shakes his head in agreement. Pete just has to keep up the hard to get act--well to Patrick at least--after all he's *throwing* himself at other guys--granted it's Joe and Brendon, but that doesn't matter, they're guys--technically.

 

He's strutting himself off for show to different guys--every guy except Patrick and he knows that will have an effect whether or not it's a small one.

 

Hopefully Patrick will give him his *desired effect* sooner or later.

 

Hopefully  _sooner._

 

Hopefully  _not_   _later._


	6. I'm Sorry My Conscious Called In Sick Again.

Pete's desperate , _so desperate_ , nothing seems to be fucking working, or y'know getting the *Desired Effect* he's literally on the verge of going up to Patrick and just crushing his fist square into his jaw. Pete's so pissed, he's either gonna end up punching him or shoving his mouth onto his, either way it's gonna fucking _hurt._

 

Honestly he's tried every-fucking-thing, okay maybe not everything, like actually talking to Patrick for one, whatever. Like that would even work, it'd probably end up with them killing each other some way or another. Whether it's Pete hurling a chair or Patrick using a stapler--a shudder racks throughout Pete's body at the visual, never mind. He's not even gonna ponder over that horrendous image ....

 

So tired he's actually considering giving up and just forgetting about Patrick and his face, his god damn attractive face with those fucking cheek bones--those cheek bones--no he cannot even let that sink into his mind, not now.

 

He is in a meeting at the moment so he needs to keep the "Emotionless Zombie" act up right now, while it's difficult for him to even stay still for too long everyone else in the room seems to be turning it into an art form.

 

Their boss is just blabbing on and Pete can barely focus especially when a hand places itself on his knee and he gives a slight jump, though not hard enough to make a scene and alert anybody, he squints his eyes in bemusement because Joe and Brendon are sitting across from him, who the fuck. Pete turns his head and,  _holy shit._

 

 _Patrick,_ Patrick is fucking touching his leg,  _why?_  He chokes back a squeak when Patrick's hand glides up gradually meeting the inside of his thigh and he wriggles slightly in his seat. What is he doing?

 

Pete's sure his entire face is flushed bright crimson as he grits his teeth and cranes his neck to lean over to Patrick and whisper out "What are you--" Patrick quickly shushes him by squeezing his hand tightly and a small whimper escapes Pete's throat.

 

Okay that alerted some gazes, Joe's looking at him funny and Pete's honestly feeling funny--fuck,  _fuck._

 

The hand skims a little higher and Pete just became aware and discovered the hardening of his cock and Patrick needs to stop, but how the fuck does he stop it. Pete contemplates the idea of just letting out a shriek and staggering up right out of his chair stumbling and making it crystal-clear that something is indeed wrong. But that would probably end in flames...Pete doesn't want to get the guy fired, isn't this what he wanted?

 

Well not technically, Pete never asked to be groped in an office full of a bunch of people he doesn't even know, _witnesses_. Sure the thrill is somewhat a rush of adrenaline coursing through him. The chance of being caught really adds to the whole _his jeans are beginning to become extremely painful_ problem. So is Pete's dick while Patrick is a major dick who's a pain in his ass and not in a good way. _F_ _uck's sake._

 

" _Patrick._ " He hisses and moves to clutch at Patrick's hand but Patrick fucking slaps his fingers away, _what the hell._

 

In punishment Pete assumes Patrick's fingertips slide up, trailing over his inner thigh before pressing against the heated denim between Pete's nearly quivering legs and  _no, no, no._

 

Pete clenches his eyes shut, scrunching his face up in pain almost while he swallows back the moans he so desperately wants to sound, he's about to fall out of his seat. Pete's brain is a panic, practically vibrating against his cranium.

 

His thighs twitch and tremble when Patrick begins to knead his hand and fuck, it hurts, the rough material is rubbing against his dick and he's currently going commando at the moment for boxer briefs and skinny jeans don't mix, quite a horrid combination really.

 

It chafes like hell, but it feels _so_ _good_ and Pete kind of wants to cry, he's pretty sure he's about to, by the way his eyes are burning, but that could just be from the way he's squeezing them shut. which now he's beginning to see colors behind his eyelids, colors he probably shouldn't be observing.

 

He inhales sharply and his eyes snap open when Patrick's fingers move to curl around the hem of his jeans before they dip down to unbutton the front and then swiftly undo the zipper with practiced ease. That definitely sets off alarm bells in Pete's brain before everything dissolves into scratch and the noise of his boss anything emitting from _anything_ dissolves into static. Pete's thoughts don't even exist anymore because there's a hand circled around and tightly gripping the base of his cock.

 

Pete's lower abdomen tightens, his stomach clenching and he swallows with difficulty almost as if there's gravel trapped in the back of his throat, causing an audible click from the muscles rippling somewhat rapidly. A small chuckle rings through his eardrums, penetrating the noise, _Patrick._

 

Humiliation seems to pull at Pete's heart strings and tears begin to well in his eyes when the hand strokes upward, thumb pressing roughly into the head and then fingered his slit. Pete's legs convulse, giving a slight spasm as Patrick rubs his index finger into his pelvic bone, he feels so powerless and just...embarrassed.

 

Anger seems to slam into his chest sizzling as his entire body begins to swelter, he's so furious, and it's because--because it's almost like Patrick wanted this to happen, like he wanted Pete to feel humiliated--like it was his absolute intention.

 

His tears begin to form into small dollops and he attempts to blink them away but in the end it's futile for it only results in them practically leaping off his eyelashes and leaking down his hot reddened cheeks and now dampened. Patrick must notice as the movements of his hand falter in their actions.

 

Pete inhales deeply in relief at the frozen state of Patrick's fist curled around him, a break is definitely appropriate right now. For Pete at least. Is that pathetic? Probably. He gives a shaky breath and his toes curl scraping against the inside of his shoes when Patrick's fingers begin to caress at the crease of his inner thigh.

 

"Are you okay?" Patrick murmurs soothingly almost soundlessly and Pete has to focus intently and make an attempt at reading lips so he can even comprehend it.

 

And then Pete's frozen, he doesn't know what to say, _is he okay with this?_ He should be if by the shit he's pulled is anything to judge by. He wanted this so why is he so reluctant to accept it?

 

So Pete doesn't say a word, doesn't even open his mouth, all he does is lock his gaze with Patrick and see if Patrick can understand. Understand whatever peculiar emotion is running through him at the moment. Maybe he just feels as if it's wrong, like he's doing this for the wrong reason.

 

It's as if the pleasure doesn't mean a thing to him--his anxiety is too strong and his conscious too healthy to turn a blind eye at this situation. So no, he's not okay, but here's the problem he doesn't want Patrick to stop.

 

Pete slumps back into his chair, fingers shaking and his thighs fluttering, Patrick still has a firm hold on him and it's _still_ effecting him. Patrick's hand feels cool against him but warm at the same time and he's already confused, he doesn't need to exceed the level at which his brain can tolerate. it's already at it's limit and so is he.

 

"..Pete?" Pete's eyes slide shut at the tone of Patrick's voice, comforting and delicate, it's tender and sweet, but he feels like he doesn't deserve that. Pete brings a hand up to wipe off eyeliner smudged tears, which probably only stems it to smear more so.

 

Pete kind of can't believe nobody's even noticed this entire interaction, he's pretty sure Joe and Brendon died or some shit, because they don't even look awake anymore. Eyes drooping and--is that drool? Pete doesn't actually blame them. But Pete's in the middle of having an episode right-fucking-now and everyone just continues to sit still, soulless and man is that really god damn creepy.

 

He almost forgets about Patrick's hands as he narrows his eyes in thought, skeptical. and he lets out a loud squeak when the fingernails of Patrick's other hand dig into his thigh.

 

 

Oh.

 

 

Looks like he was wrong, people are not dead, _at all_ , they definitely noticed.

 

"Pete, are you okay?" Someone asks and Pete didn't even bother to glance at who it was before stuttering out an, "I'm f-fine.." And that's that. Patrick's hand is stroking even faster now and Pete's breath is stuttering, quickening, matching his heart rate, fuck-- _fuck._

 

And now Pete's beginning to buck his hips into the touch and although it's not very much it still adds so, _so much_ and shudders rack throughout his body as a shiver runs up his spine, and he's pretty sure he's about to come.

 

Especially by the way his body has become one great giant throb and the only thing he's truly aware of is Patrick, Patrick's * _dangerous_ * hands. His erratic heartbeat which is giving him the idea that he might actually have a heart attack sometime soon, Pete's blaming Patrick if it happens, and the fact that his body seems to be shaking almost violently, tremors thrumming far and wide everywhere within him.

 

Pete's really hoping he doesn't scream when he hits his climax, but there's absolutely no way he's gonna be able to stifle it completely. Pete can barely smother the moans bubbling up already, there's _no way._

 

His hips are twisting upward pushing up into every brutal pull of Patrick's fist and his breath is becoming more rough, heavily inhales and husky exhales, he's so close, come on,  _please_ \--and then he's coming, coming hard, spurting into Patrick's hand and a smirk seems to curl upon Patrick's face.

 

Pete can't even think, can't even be mad, his thoughts are too distorted--discorded--they're falling apart from each other and only a few words are aflame in his mind, most of them being curse words, but the one in particular that really sticks out to him is Patrick's name, like a sore thumb almost. Pete gets the urge to shout it, scream it out in a broken voice, cracked and hoarse, but it seems he's in luck because he doesn't, decides he shouldn't, not now at least.

 

The only thing Pete _does_ do is shove himself into the hands holding him, heaving forward and he melts, turning into putty as a low whine erupts from his throat, his head tips back and he's seemingly gone.

 

Pete collapses lax against the back of his chair as Patrick gently removes his hand before tucking him back into his jeans and redoing what he chose to undo. Unfortunately Pete can't undo his coming undone now can he?

 

Shame clouds at his mind, though arousal pools at the pit of stomach when Patrick licks his fingers and his dick twitches causing him to squirm in his seat, it's no use because it's completely impossible for him to get hard again, not this fast but damn is he trying.

 

There's now a suspicious wet stain on the front of his jeans and his legs twitch uncomfortably at the itchy feeling of warm liquid leaking down his thighs and he quickly sits up straight before standing up on wobbly knees and seizes an unsteady footing. "I'm sorry, but I need to be excused." He mumbles in a scratchy voice, throat strained. He then shuffles out of the room calmly but when the door closes shut he breaks into a brisk run down the hall ignoring the fuzzy sensation of his after glow prodding him in the back of the brain.

 

For now Pete needs to get to the bathroom, needs to clean up this bullshit, and that could account to many things. Then Pete needs to confront Patrick and ask what the fuck that was about. People don't just give out random hand jobs, that's not a thing is it? No, no it's certainly not, okay.  _Okay._

 

Pete's never felt more confused than he is _right now._


	7. You Make The Mist In My Head Clear, Although baby, I'm Sure I'm Fainting.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete's not a damn kitten--if anything he is a fuckin' lion.

Okay, so apparently Pete did something wrong because now Patrick's avoiding him--every time he tries to say something Patrick fuckin' bolts, it's completely ridiculous to the point where Patrick doesn't even come out of his cubicle for lunch, for fuck's sake.

 

Pete's honestly not in the mood for this bullshit, but he has no idea how to corner Patrick--he's clearly not the one skilled in that area, unlike Patrick--but even though Patrick's been avoiding Pete, he's also been staring at him.

 

Brendon laughs at him for even voicing that as if Pete's delusional but he has no idea how creepy it is to be shuffling down the hallway and just notice a shadow looming by the door and oh would you look at that, the shadow has a hat--this proves Pete's whole entire "Patrick's a serial killer" point, seriously.

 

"Brendon, dude I fucking told you what happened, why is it so hard to believe that I am being stalked?" Pete demands, slamming his fists onto his desk--not very hard though--no need for more dropped clipboards, wait--doesn't Patrick carry a clipboard and Pete's has gone missing.

 

Pete's mouth falls open into a loud gasp, "That mother fucker stole my clipboard." He hisses, scavenging through his cluttered desk.

 

"Pete, Jesus Christ." Brendon sighs as Pete claws through papers, "Your clipboard is literally behind you--why would that even matter?"

 

Pete's original frown deepens into a scowl and he spins around--oh, Brendon's right, fuck. "Um..." Pete sighs, bringing a hand up to his forehead as he shifts his weight--Pete's paranoia hasn't really left him--it's only increased since the whole little incident, and everything is an incident lately, god.

 

An unpleasant scratchy sensation begins to submerge itself into a layer of Pete's skin and he squirms lightly, twisting his torso while Brendon gains a concerned expression, eyebrows furrowing somewhat.

 

"Okay, are you really freaking out or..?" Brendon questions, leaning forward over the desk to grasp at Pete's rapidly twitching shoulders.

 

Pete opens his mouth to respond but only a cracked croak spills out, he clears his throat, shaking his head before he tries again.

 

"I'm okay--it's not because the whole stalker thing--it's 'cause now I can't even confront him about the whole..." Pete trails off and Brendon nods removing his clutch around Pete's arms to circle around the desk and plop down on the edge of one of the corners.

 

Pete takes in a deep inhale and crosses his arms over his chest. Brendon tilts his head as a smile curls upon his lips. "I have an idea!" He suddenly announces, springing up and Pete reels back.

 

"What?" Pete breathes, collapsing against the wall and his eyes close for a brief moment--brief because they snap open when he feels two hands grab at his hips. "What are you doing?" Pete mumbles, trying to shimmy out of the grip.

 

"Remember the whole "Get him jealous" Idea?" Brendon laughs, a smirk etching its way onto his face as his eyes brighten and Pete just blinks. "I--"

 

"Quiet!" Brendon hisses, jabbing his index finger in the direction of the corner in which a silhouette is crossing by--with the familiar outline of a certain hat--and is that a clipboard?

 

"Are we really doing this again?!" Pete groans in a barely audible voice and Brendon nods his head and then the corners of his mouth pull into a wide grin. Pete squints his eyes when he notices the figure freezing, but twitches when he becomes aware of Brendon's hands tightening around him before one wraps around his waist and the other places itself on his lower back.

 

Pete's about to question Brendon's motives but is interrupted by said problematic friend. "Follow me, alright?" Brendon whispers, leaning in close and hot puffs of breath slide over Pete's cheek making its way down to his neck and it sends shivers down his spine, his toes curl in anticipation.

 

Brendon speaks loudly this time, "What are you okay with me doing to you?" Pete's eyes widen in response and he fidgets. "I-I-" Brendon ventures his hand up, formerly coiled around his waist to tenderly caress Pete's cheek, a finger tracing his cheekbone while he coos, "Aw, baby are you nervous?" Brendon shakes his head, clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "You don't have to be, I'll take care of you--I'll treat you real nice."

 

Pete eyes widen even more as his mouth goes slack, and then his eyes notice the frozen shadow by the corner recently emerging flinch as if they we're slapped.

 

Brendon leans in closer and whispers into his ear, "Hey, we don't have to do anything physical if you don't want to--just use your voice."

 

Pete swallows hard and nods, he never really thought Brendon to be the one to pull this kind of shit--or actually have the balls--and Pete's feeling really--really awkward in the midst of this chaos.

 

"You'll take care of me?" Pete sighs in a content voice, head lulling back as he keeps an eye on the still wavering figure, until a hand curls around his jaw, smoothly turning his chin somewhat and causing him to lock gazes with Brendon to which Brendon murmurs into his ear, "He can see us too."

 

Pete nods, before sliding his hands up Brendon's chest to loop his arms around the others neck, yanking him closer and Brendon hums in response scratching his fingernails lightly over Pete's tailbone and Pete wriggles in delight.

 

And Pete doesn't actually remember the exact point of when this took a turn and became legitimate, but somewhere along the way Brendon's hand ends up on his ass, fingers kneading mildly and a low whine bubbles up in his throat falling off his lips though it's somewhat choked off--this still...feels odd, Pete's chest feels funny and he's not really sure if he's okay with this--but it's all for show--a facade.

 

Pete takes in a ragged breath, digging his fingernails into Brendon's shoulders. "What do you want me to want?" He gives a genuine giggle, and draws his leg up, curling it around Brendon's thigh and strokes his foot over the back of Brendon's calf.

 

Brendon brushes his nose against Pete's collarbone a quiet chuckle escaping him and then he begins to murmur softly, "I--" And that's all that manages to spill out before a emphatic thud rings throughout the office interrupting whatever Brendon was about to unleash.

 

Pete flinches when he detects a rumbling growl and boisterous footsteps--and dread swells in the pit of his stomach when a door slams, well, shit.

 

"See what you did." Pete pouts, prodding a finger into Brendon's chest.

 

Brendon scoffs, breaking away from Pete, "You didn't have to go along with it--" A pitiful whine erupts from Pete and he may or may not stomp his foot against the floor--definitely not--Pete's not childish. "I didn't know what to do!" He groans, slapping a palm to his forehead, "Everything is so--fucked up."

 

Everything is silent for a few moments until Pete mutters out, "If I get assaulted in a bathroom stall it's your fault."

 

Brendon rolls his eyes, snatching up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "Whatever, man." He replies, and Pete juts his bottom lip out even more, aiming to look even more miserable.

 

Brendon pats him on the head softly--as if Pete's a fucking dog and a small whimper escapes him--oh god, he grits his teeth coming to the unsettling realization that he is in fact a dog--Pete's needy, whiny, clingy--and he really fucking wants Patrick's attention.

 

...Does that make Patrick his owner?--Pete's knees give a slight buckle at the thought--he needs to stop and just sit down for a while, Jesus.

 

Brendon narrows his eyes giving him a strange look. "Are you okay?" Pete stares, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and quickly shakes his head, addressing the fact that he's fine--he's okay--everything is just fucking fabulous.

 

"I'm not very assured--" Pete huffs, puffing his cheeks out--"I don't give a shit." He replies, attempting to whack Brendon in the chest, but Brendon seizes his wrists--weird--very weird.

 

"Um." Pete struggles against the hold for a moment before going stiff--"Can you let go?" Brendon arches a brow at him, his grip loosening somewhat but not enough for Pete to slip out. "Are you going to hit me again?"

 

Pete bites the inside of his cheek, tilting his head. "No--unless you give me a reason to." Brendon snorts, letting go of him. "Whatever you're like a violent kitten--well, I'm gonna go..." He drags on, stepping backwards out of the room before whirling around and striding down the hall while Pete watches.

 

That was strange--wait.

 

"I'm not a god damn kitten!" Pete shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth and he grinds his jaw when he hears a loud laugh resound throughout the room--Pete crosses his arms--muttering profanities all the while cursing Brendon to hell.

 

Pete's not a damn kitten--if anything he is a fuckin' lion.

                                                                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It seems Pete can predict the future because he does indeed get cornered in a restroom--why is it it's always him getting cornered and when he tries to corner Patrick--Patrick worms out of his grasp with practiced ease.

 

He watches in fascination as Patrick taps his foot against the tile, staring at him--well at least he's not avoiding him now.

 

"Uh, hi?" Pete wrinkles his nose, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth--a strange habit he's picked up on when he feels nervous--he should probably try to quit doing it, because now Patrick's gaze is locked onto his mouth.

 

Pete clears his throat causing Patrick to snap out of whatever day dream he was previously consumed in. Patrick's mouth falls into a frown, and Pete can almost hear the grinding of his jaw.

 

"Patrick?" Pete calls hesitantly, taking a step back when Patrick narrows his eyes. "You," Patrick pauses momentarily, before turning his gaze to the bathroom mirror, "I'm gonna have to ask you to keep the public displays of affection to a minimum--unless you want me to tell our boss?"

 

Pete's mouth drops open--dumbfounded, did Patrick really just pull that card?

 

"What the fuck?" Pete inhales sharply, eyes set ablaze and fury absorbing his entire frame--practically slamming into his chest, "I don't think you have the right to tell me this when you gave me a fucking hand job in the midst of a god damn meeting--Patrick." Pete growls Patrick's name out like its venom glazing his tongue and he widens his stance.

 

Pete pulls back his upper lip his face twisting into an ugly snarl when Patrick has the audacity to quirk his mouth into a smirk. "I don't remember you complaining." Patrick drawls, twirling a finger and Pete wants to rip it off with his teeth.

 

"Fuck you." Pete snaps and he attempts to shove his way past Patrick, but fists enclose themselves around his waist and drive him into the wall behind him and Pete can feel fingers digging into his flesh causing him to let out a pained whimper.

 

Pete takes in a shaky breath when Patrick buries his face into the junction of his shoulder, recoiling back when Patrick's chilled nose nuzzles into the line of his throat tracing slightly as he gives a faint chuckle and Pete shivers--warm breath cascades over his collarbone running over his jaw and his body feels almost like a furnace.

 

Pete's furious--and he's about to force Patrick away from him but falters in his movements when Patrick murmurs, "Fuck me?--you seem like the type to get fucked, be honest Pete." And Pete's body goes limp, crumbling against the wall as his chest heaves in and out with urgent motions--he just needs to breathe--breathe--back and forth--back and forth--A whirling sensation falls over him and he feels as if he's about to faint--like his brain isn't obtaining enough oxygen, like Patrick's robbing it directly from his lungs.

 

Pete's vision begins to blur and Patrick's face is a fuzzy and jumbled mayhem, his hands move to grapple at Patrick's shoulders struggling to steady himself as his palms clutch and bunch the thin cotton material of Patrick's shirt.

 

Patrick's hands tighten around Pete and Pete tries to squirm, but it's almost like the life in him has drained--there's no fight in him any longer, how does Patrick do this to him?

 

Pete's vision eventually appears to focus and now he can see the look on Patrick's face--the expression--it's one of concern, he's...Worried about Pete? A hand comes into Pete's view and the fingers snap causing his eardrums to ring, the sound protruding his brain cutting through his thoughts as if they were only butter.

 

"Pete, hey--Pete?" Patrick's perturbed voice sounds deafening in the nearly silent restroom and it echoes within Pete's brain, making him scrunch his face up in agony--it hurts, he's definitely not okay--everything's too loud and it feels as if it's pounding against his cranium--and he gets the urge to escape but he--can't--move, his breath begins to acceleration, becoming shallow and his chest is torture--his blood thrumming--throbbing throughout him and sweat has started to bead at his forehead--is he going insane?

 

Did Pete finally break?--he becomes aware of his trembling and quivering body and he can feel hands surrounding him, rubbing and massaging the tensed muscles in his back--he swears he's about to die and a shredded sob tears from his throat at the thought and he claws at the body in front of him until a mouth presses itself to his own and everything seems to slow down as hands curl around his face.

 

The haze in Pete's head simmers and everything seems to clear, the mouth on him stays still and he doesn't think he could move if he tried--the touch disappears--it's gone--and so is he.

 

The last thing Pete feels is arms looping around his thighs hoisting him up and then everything goes black--almost like he's fallen into an abyss of nothing--like he's numb.


	8. I'm A Wheel of Emotions When I'm With You, All You Have To Do Is Give Me A Spin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing style was changed slightly--kay, a lot, it's been changed to match my one shot I've been working on kind of and it's just more detailed I guess, tell me your thoughts <3

Pete's pretty sure he's dead right now--did Patrick kill him or some shit?--if he did, Pete called it--wait no--his back is pressed against something, so he's probably alive, maybe--he's lying on a plush-like object--a cushion, possibly?

 

Everything still feels kind of hazy, like a misty dream clouding at his brain, like he's not actually there--his mind is someplace else almost. He tilts his head, causing his cheek to scratch against the somewhat rough material. He snakes his tongue out to moisten his chapped bottom lip, his mouth feels dry and his throat raw, the only memory floating around in his head is a disordered jumble of a facial expression, nervous..and alarmed?--familiar...Patrick, maybe? Pete's not sure, it's kind of unsettling if he's honest.

 

Pete gives a slight squirm, his body twisting and his back arching until he huffs, falling back into the bed?--couch?--he feels a small wave of panic ripple through him at the lack of knowledge regarding his surroundings and his foot twitches, thumping into the--arm of a couch, it's a couch--he's on a couch--okay.

 

No more panicking--except for the fact that he has no clue where he is, what the hell even happened?--he inhales deeply, attempting to calm his nerves--though they're practically skittering, and he squirms once again until he's lying face down, on his stomach, which eases him a bit and he sighs in relief.

 

Pete can recognize a small movement sounding from the room next-door--and he'd rather not acknowledge that, not now at least, he really just wants to sink back into his formerly unconscious state--for awhile, or even an eternity, why not?

 

He stretches his body out, straining several of his muscles and his frame partially resembles a cat for a moment from his curved spine to his bent knees, curled up toes, and sprawled out fingers clawing into the couch, pressing and leaving small indents, before one of his wrists bump into a velvety-like fabric, though the object is squishy and one of his eyes crack open, to which he discovers the object is a pillow-- _score._

 

Pete wiggles closer and extends his arms out to coil around the desired element to obliterate the annoyance of his headache and a disturbing image of a spider seizing it's prey inserts itself into his mind and his face pulls into a sort of grimace, that image is definitely not what he needs right now--it relates to him enormously--in an almost pathetic amount.

 

His bottom lip juts out--involuntarily--and he shoves his face into the cushion, his arms tightening around it as he gives a tiny muffled groan. His eyes are clenched shut and his shoulders tense, he should probably get up--eventually, but he's so...exhausted.

 

Pete's chest begins to expand as a yawn bubbles up and escapes his mouth, although it's smothered and almost silent. He kicks his legs out once again to attempt at succeeding in finding a more suited position for himself.

 

He lets out a questionable noise when he realizes his legs are tangled up in a...He lifts his head up to take a small glance downward and detects a blanket wrapped around his calves, he arches a brow and a lazy smile curls upon his lips.

 

Pete worms his way onto his side reaching down he paws at the duvet, digging his fingernails into the creases, loosening and unraveling it before he tugs it upward to sheath his form within the pleasant warmth he didn't know he craved and his body wiggles in delight.

 

His legs curl up, initiating him to coil into a ball and right as he's getting comfy and the sensation of cozy and nice entwined into a little ball inside his chest spirals, the door creaks open and he freezes while his formerly blanket warm blood runs cold.

 

A whispering voice infiltrates the previously quiet and peaceful room and Pete quickly squeezes his eyes shut as his body instinctively coils and constricts into a compact shape, small and petite, just a bundle of an aggressive angst-ridden fringe underneath a pile of blankets, barely even visible.

 

Pete tries to focus on the voice, grinding and clenching his teeth causing his jaw to go stiff as he interprets the near to unintelligible words.

 

"Gabe, I have no clue what to fucking do--" The voice makes a scoffing noise in reply to whatever this "Gabe" said, heavy-sounding and obnoxious and Pete immediately concludes the certain someone to be the horrible and rough Patrick grump.

 

Pete swallows back a giggle, chest tightening and his throat tickling with the effort to stay quiet--and still, his face scrunches up, aspiring to avoid the creeping smile attempting to spread across his face, however his face wrinkled the way it is, is still abnormal and will probably result in alerting Patrick if he doesn't subdue it.

 

Pete shifts slightly trying to ease his tingling stomach and he hears a harsh thunk--and then a stifled groan of "Fuck, ow, ouch--" sounds and holding back laughter is really starting to become a challenging task, he cranes his neck a bit concentrating on the vague voice resonating from the phone.

 

"No, I'm not dead--Christ, he moved and I thought he woke up--" Patrick hisses and Pete can detect shuffling around the room--Patrick's taking cautious steps--though the floor is still groaning beneath his feet. "Dude, what do I do?--I'm not gonna wake him up--because he'll probably end up slapping me--that's not funny--" Patrick seems to be bickering back and forth with the guy now, his frustrated breaths and swears cursed beneath his breath clog Pete's eardrums and he's starting to get a little annoyed--okay, a lot annoyed.

 

So Pete decides to be a little shit, because that's clearly one of his special talents, so he lets out a hefty huff and rolls over onto his back, arching his hips into a stretch and he hears a quiet noise of alarm emit from across the room, his lips quirk into a smile and he shimmies a bit, before falling back and going lax within his blanket fort--it's almost like his own personal armor to shield himself away from the icky--Patrick sort of reminds him of the monsters that hide within bedrooms--whether it's in closets or underneath beds--but in Patrick's case, bathrooms--he'd probably be lurking behind the shower curtains--there's no probably about that theory honestly.

 

It's silent for a few moments and Pete lulls his head back, this time though he's actually trying to get more comfortable, his back is bent into an unnatural curve and he's sure that's gonna fuck him up for a few days, he inhales deeply, straightening his spine and stretching his legs out, his eyelids fluttering while his toes wiggle back and forth.

 

He snuggles back into the cushion without a care in the world and then a frown pulls at the corners of his mouth when he realizes just how quiet it really is, the only sound in the room being the chattering of the phone.

 

A disgruntled noise erupts and laughter threatens to escape Pete once again. "...What a fucking basta--not you!--god fucking damn it." Patrick growls, the soft padding of his feet converting into rigid stomps. "Actually--you are a bastard, I take that back--Yeah well, you aren't helping so--I don't know!--I think it was a panic attack or some shit--you think I should apologize?!" Patrick shrieks voice cracking in the midst of his shout and Pete's shoulders twitch unconsciously in response causing Patrick's breath to hitch.

 

"Fuck--my fault?--I didn't know--yeah but--no--I--fine!" Pete hears a snap and then a thud and he's gonna assume that it was Patrick performing his daily tantrum and throwing his phone across the room, if that clattered and cracking noise is anything to judge by.

 

Pete cracks an eye open to peer up at Patrick's doubled over figure, his chest is heaving and his fingers are tangled into his hair, tugging and tousling at the already rumpled strands. "Fuck's sake." Patrick sighs, tearing his hands away from his skull and straightening his stance to which Pete clenches his eyes shut and relaxes his face into a dull expression, however his shoulders are still stiff.

 

Pete hears hasty footsteps skidding across the wooden floor before the sound of a door swinging open and then being slammed shut rings throughout his ears and his eyes instantly fly open as he gives a swift motion of snapping his body up into a sitting position, his movements are staggered and wobbly, leading him to almost topple out of the plush haven he's been accustomed to.

 

He slides off the couch and stands up on two rickety knees, his balance wavering making him unsteady and he brings a hand up to press against his temple--did he hit his head or something?--Jesus.

 

Pete twists around somewhat evaluating his surroundings, eyes blinking back and forth from the computer--Garage-band open?--whatever, he quickly shakes his head and locks his gaze onto the door, shifting his weight from foot to foot, contemplating--going out there kind of seems like a suicide mission to Pete, but he's determined, escape his insane-- _not that he's any saner_ \-- _seriously_ \--coworker's house.

 

Well, Pete was determined--but the only plan circling and floating around his brain at the moment is to crawl out of the window--which isn't a very dignified move. Although that doesn't really stop him from trying it.

 

Pete scurries over to the the windowsill and when he manages to glance out the window his face screws up into a scowl--just his fucking luck--he's on the second floor and he's not planning on dying anytime soon--but wait, which way is less dangerous?

 

He has two options here, one being to gather his pride and waltz out of the room and face Patrick's wrath--or he could jump out of a window and end up as a splattered mess on concrete mirroring the likes of a cracked egg--a shudder racks through his frame at the-- _graphic_ \--visual.

 

Pete's really having a hard time deciding whether which is worse, he chews at the inside of his cheek, on the other hand he might end up flattened in Patrick's case--his eyes widen in terrified realization and he lets out a pained whimper, he's gonna end up as a pathetic cracked egg no matter what, fuck.

 

Fuck it, he's going to confront Patrick--and like maybe punch him--or make out with him--fuckin' both. Probably should punch Patrick after the make-out session though, so y'know nobody has a busted lip during it, unless Patrick bites--good thing Pete enjoys to bite back.

 

He puffs out his chest, furrowing his eyebrows, he's got this, except for the fact that he's said this every time before he gets his ass kicked--maybe he should try some new tactics, instead of letting Patrick control him with just a flick of his fingertip--or lowering his voice--or--Pete slumps against the surface of the window for a moment, breath hard and huffing from his nostrils, fogging up the glass.

 

Pete's really starting to despise himself with an intense passion, he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, worrying it between his teeth as he squints his eyes, the skin around them crinkling ever so slightly.

 

He just wants to go home and curl up on his--his couch, not Patrick's--his and cuddle with Hemmy--not Patrick--never Patrick. Absolutely never the fucking fedora-beast who jerks off to records of Bowie in his spare time-- _okay that's kind of harsh but still._

 

Pete braces a hand against the glass and pushes himself up, giving himself a slight shake before he whirls around and crosses the room almost tripping over the blanket still curled around his thighs and he's beginning to wonder how that keeps happening, things just like to tie him up apparently and he's not very fond of this notion right now.

 

Pete quickly kicks it off and then crouches, walking on the tips of his toes and treading--very--quietly, like ninja quality quiet right here. He pauses briefly in front of the door, tinted a shade of ivory and Pete takes a moment to admire it before he purses his lips and grits his teeth, focus Pete. Focus.

 

Oh yea, he's so cool, check him out, he's like a god damn spy--and okay, he might have lurched back and landed hard on his ass when he heard a door opening from the other room but, whatever, that's beside the point, he's still bad-ass.

 

Pete quickly pulls himself upright and coils his hand around the doorknob, his face contorts into a grimace as he turns it, twisting the knob. He slowly pushes it open, his face scrunching up more so as the door creaks horribly with every motion.

 

He takes long strides down the hallway still on his tiptoes and really Patrick, wooden stairs, what the fuck, if Pete had wooden stairs he'd probably be dead right now so--then again that outcome is a near possibility so he should probably keep his mouth shut.

 

Pete curls his fingers around the railing--just in case--and takes reluctance steps down the staircase, almost tripping when he comes into contact with a fucking shoe--oh my god, Patrick.

 

When he succeeds in making it down the stairs of death, he gives himself a tiny victory dance to celebrate.

 

Once he's finished with that he tries to focus on the sound around him and detects some movement emitting from his left.

 

Pete sucks in a deep breath, bracing himself and marches directly to the core of the noise. He narrows his eyes when he finds himself in a kitchen and then notices a certain figure--Patrick rummaging through his fridge with a not so pretty expression causing him to duck behind a counter--and in his haste he knocked over a fucking bottle, fuck.

 

Pete narrows his eyes when he finds himself in a kitchen and then notices a certain figure--Patrick rummaging through his fridge with a not so pretty expression causing him to duck behind a counter--and in his haste he knocked over a fucking bottle, fuck.

 

Patrick whirls around, his eyes locking onto the stray bottle that decided to betray Pete--what an asshole. Patrick crosses his arms tightly around his chest and gives a exasperated sigh. "Pete." He says, tapping his foot against the tile impatiently like someone would a petulant child.

 

Pete doesn't pout or anything, he never pouts--he's a lion damn it. Patrick huffs angrily and rushes forward, but so does Pete--around the counter that is.

 

"Are you really gonna do this?" Patrick asks, voice sounding like a growl in itself, "I guess I should fucking expect it."

 

Pete instantly rises from his crouched position--he's not taking this bullshit, it's not like he asked to faint and be taken-- _kidnapped_ \--to Patrick's house, alright--he's the victim for fuck's sake!

 

"Excuse me but at least I don't fucking corner people in restrooms--" Pete begins and he was planning on making it a lecture on how stalking people is wrong and illegal for a reason and maybe Patrick should not, but Patrick lets out a high screech interrupting him and oh wow, Pete didn't know it was possible for people to turn that shade of red, it's actually kind of pretty in a bizarre way.

 

"Excuse me!--but you practically ask me to half the fucking time--you're like a little puppy wanting attention, it's pathetic really--" Pete feels anger surge through him and he's fairly sure he's that color of red now, he's practically seething, his entire form visibly bristling.

 

"Why the fuck would I ever want your attention?!--why don't you go jack off to Prince and Bowie and leave me alone!" Pete shrieks, slamming his fist against the counter causing a glass to tremble and fall to the floor, shattering and spilling the liquid all over the tile, sweat begins to bead at his forehead and he moves to wipe at it with the sleeve of his shirt, he's furious--he already knows he's pathetic and he certainly doesn't need Patrick voicing it--doesn't need to be humiliated.

Patrick stares at the broken glass scattered across the floor for a moment before averting his gaze upward and precisely locking it onto Pete, eyes cold--yet warm--Pete doesn't even know how to make sense of that.

"I'm sorry." Patrick says simply, expression hollow and dull--reminding Pete of a dim brick-wall--wait. Pete falters in his stance, body wavering and going unsteady until he manages to get a hold of his footing and not black out once again--that would only succeed in embarrassing him further.

 

"W-what?" Pete stutters, eyes widening, he must have misheard Patrick or something, where's the insult?--where's the go fuck yourself sideways retort?--where is it? Pete blinks, mouth slack and wide open--bemused and blatantly dumbfounded.

 

"I'm sorry." Patrick repeats, shrugging his shoulder's as if it's nothing. "What I said was a mistake and I apologize." Patrick's eyes slide shut for a brief moment, the skin of his forehead wrinkling slightly as the bones in his jaw tense.

 

His eyes snap open abruptly, they're darkened--blackened like an abyss that Pete feels himself slipping into but they're also filled with a strange intensity and Patrick opens his mouth to continue, "And, I'm sorry for scaring you--that was--I snapped--I--I'm sorry." He finishes, ducking his head and gnawing on his bottom lip, almost as if he's ashamed.

 

Pete can't even move right now, not a muscle, it's like his feet are glued to the floor and his stomach churns while his vision becomes spotty, darkening for a second before he clenches his eyes shut and inhales deeply, anger and humiliation clearing somewhat though twisting up and entwining into an ugly sensation ballooning in his chest and a vile taste gurgles up in his throat and makes contact with his taste-buds causing him to flinch.

 

He tips his head back and reopens his eyes, ignoring the nauseous feeling swirling around him as he gazes at the lumpy ceiling--like popcorn. He can hear the same agonizing tapping of Patrick's foot and he sighs, before curving his neck downward and back into his proper posture.

 

Patrick's still staring the floor, tapping an inconsistent rhythm with his foot, his eyes half lidded and Pete tilts his head a bit before mumbling out. "Okay, thanks--I think I should go home.." And his voice--oh his voice, it sounds broken, weak, barely even there--he feels too small, that kind of small you get speaking out in front of crowds you're not familiar with-- _crowds you don't want to be familiarized with._

 

Patrick's head snaps back up, several emotions crossing his face as his arms unfold, dropping back down to his sides. "I-I don't know if that's a good idea," He responds, eyes straying to the door, "Your car is still back at work and--"

 

"That's fine." Pete answers, cutting Patrick off, "I'll just get Brendon to drive me.." His voice only a choked whisper and Patrick's face immediately drops at the mention of Brendon's name. "Right--your boyfriend, okay." Patrick gives a stiff nod, before muttering under his breath, "One of them at least."

 

Pete decides to ignore that, disregarding the entire foolish plan--and everything within it, it was pointless and so is this. Patrick scrapes his foot across the surface of the floor, swallowing hard. "I'll drive you back--but I--you shouldn't be left alone, so if you can't gather one of your--" He gives a slightly forced cough, ""Friends" then I'm staying with you for the night--and if I do I might as well drive you to work."

 

"But-" Pete tries to protest but Patrick swiftly shakes his head, "You could end up doing something stupid--which isn't very hard for you, so I'm gonna make sure you don't." Patrick nods again and even though Pete's affirmative he's not gonna be able to talk him out of it he still blurts out, "Why do you even care?"

 

Patrick's lips stretch into a small grin, "Who said I did?" He quirks a brow at Pete "It's called having a conscious--seems mine's working today, you're in luck--or out of it, depends on your viewpoint." He murmurs before turning around to stride out of the room, but notices Pete's questioning stare when he glances back over his shoulder and answers with, "I'm gonna go grab an extra pair of clothes, princess." And he ends it with that, while Pete watches him disappear through the doorway and then proceeds to curl in on himself, body shivering and the muscles in his body rippling--convulsing almost.

 

He couldn't bring himself to decline Patrick and now he's gonna be stuck with him for a night--just perfect, his entire form begins to crumble and he leans onto the counter, breathing hard while his gaze flickers to the forgotten shards of glass littering the tiles of the floor--and it reminds him of himself--this situation-- _his life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pete's an emo puppy with a fringe and all he wants is a scratch behind the ears, c'mon Patrick.


	9. Wrap an Arm Around My Waist and We'll See Where It Goes From There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY I TOOK FOREVER ON THIS I COULD GIVE YOU EXCUSES WHETHER IT'S HOMEWORK OR SOME SHIT, BUT UH--tbh I'm just really lazy and at a lack of inspiration. This chapter kind of sucks, but I hope you enjoy it anyway <3

Wide brown eyes scan the passing buildings, blurry signs moving back and forth throughout Pete's vision as he gazes out the car window, glass spotty and grimy with dust and what else.

 

Leaning forward he places his forehead against the glass and sighs quietly. Pete's so exhausted, as if just communicating and being around--just knowing of Patrick's existence--drained the life out of him.

 

A soft tune is blaring from the radio, melodic and sweet, and it's calming, but it only serves to make Pete furthermore drowsy, his eyes begin to flutter shut until the car swerves to the left and Patrick lets out a muted curse resulting in a jolt from Pete, narrowly avoiding a concussion as his head lurches forward.

 

Well he's somewhat awake now. "The hell s'that about?" Pete slurs, eyes half lidded and Patrick grunts in response, "Bird," Pete's face scrunches up in confusion. "Bird?" Patrick nods firmly. "Bird," he repeats softly.

 

"Okay..." Pete replies, slumping back into his chair. To this, Pete honestly thinks it could not be more abnormal, him and Patrick driving in a car--together--to his house--and it's actually kind of peaceful, if you ignore the tension swarming around them and it almost manages to make Pete dizzy.

 

Blood's pounding against his cranium again and now his mind is kind of at a disadvantage and he's finding himself admitting that he's sort of agreeing with Patrick's earlier comment about the whole--he shouldn't be left alone after a panic attack or whatever--he'd probably end up falling down the stairs and dying or some shit equivalent to the ridiculous former.

 

Pete tried to contact Brendon--and or Joe, but they're both fucking busy and he really doesn't wanna bother them, but he also really doesn't wanna be alone with Patrick--well, he has Hemmy--Hemmy better not stab him in the back and befriend Patrick, Pete swears.

 

Aw, Hemmy must be worried 'cause he's not back yet. Pete frowns at that--as much as he can frown as he still feels kind of anchored, immobile and useless really.

 

Pete squints his eyes, barely being able to detect the faint sensation of a hand on his thigh. He gives an uncomfortable squirm, but that only ensues the hand to tighten and he hears Patrick's voice murmuring quietly. "Relax." The tone is soft and gentle and so unlike Patrick it makes Pete's head hurt.

 

Pete lets out a small groan of annoyance, he'd really prefer not to be touched by anyone right now. The presence of a palm on his leg isn't really helping his senses at the moment, really only succeeding in frazzling them, like the wiring in his brain is fried--kaput.

 

Pete sighs, turning his head back to put his gaze on the flashing lights once again. Easier to look at then the road before him which is only victorious in reminding him of his current situation.

 

And then it hits him--he forgot to take his meds, he forgot--fuck, he feels another groan ripping through his chest, but chokes it back down, god, how could he forget?

 

Pete hates taking them, with a god damn passion, the only thing they serve to do is add more problems to the already lengthy list. Headaches--insomnia, twitching, galore and more--but it does prosper in calming down the anxiety that decides to crawl beneath his skin in the midst of a panic, giving him that itchy sensation he can hardly bear, as if his skin has shrunken and it has caused it to be two sizes too small.

 

Well, he's most likely not gonna forget now, especially after this shit. His head is once again laid flat against the glass and he gives a large yawn and maybe--just maybe he'll be able to sleep tonight.

 

Pete feels a palm brush his shoulder and then shake him lightly, "Hey--Punk?" Patrick whispers, and Pete's mumbles something incoherently in response before opening his eyes. He blinks in confusion at the still scenery--wait that's his tree and his bush and his neighbor Gabe--what the fuck is Gabe doing out this late--Pete doesn't actually know what time it is.

 

It seems to be midnight but he can't be too sure. Patrick's hand disappears and Pete cranes his neck back, his mouth opening to reply but an empty car seat is the only thing that comes into his view. His eyebrows furrow in confusion until a shadow looms over him and he hears the door beside him pop open.

 

"Come on dumbass," Patrick laughs, and a hand slides beneath Pete's armpit and proceeds to drag him out of the car. "You look like you're on the verge of death," Patrick mutters shutting the car door and leading him to the front entrance to his house and Pete gives a snort.

 

"Feel like it too," Patrick hums at that and turns to glance at him, eyes sparkled with mischievous intent and Pete's gained a not so new hatred for just that particular gaze.

 

"Now I have to deal with your ass for the rest of the night," Patrick sighs in mock-distress, holding his palm out to which Pete stares at with a dull expression.

 

After a few seconds Patrick huffs impatiently. "Key," he relays briefly, and Pete grunts his acknowledgement, squinting his ears briefly before his fingers venture within his back pocket and pluck at his seemingly key chain, audible jingles and clinks of metal sounding from his failed attempts until he finally manages to grasp at the loop and tug them out.

 

"Here," He says, staring at the ground in silence as Patrick struggles with the stubborn door knob until it unlocks and creaks open. "I think your door is haunted," Patrick comments, standing upright and Pete's very thrown off from Patrick's behavior--well, okay he expected be strangled or something, so.

 

"Or the door needs to be fixed." Pete replies and pads through the doorway, hand thrown out in a reflex, finger brushing against the light switch and flipping it on--and the lights may or may not be flickering.

 

"Both," Patrick grins, before an deafening bark rings throughout Pete's eardrums and Patrick gives a lurch backward, eyes widened ridiculously in fright. "Jesus fuckin' Christ!" He yelps and Pete arches an eyebrow at the scene playing out before him, Patrick's afraid of dogs?--or maybe he was just surprised. Both.

 

Patrick glares heatedly at the staircase leading down to the basement. "Could've warned me that a demon was living in your god damn basement," And Pete lets out a small laugh, and by small he means a strange exhale of breath that could hardly be considered even a chuckle.

 

"Not much of a surprise, I mean--I work with one,"

 

"You're either talking about our boss or me, and I'm pretty sure it's the ladder," Patrick concludes, turning his glare on Pete and Pete's not really in the mood for conversation. Especially with Patrick.

 

"Look, I'm tired and over this--you're here for whatever reason--don't fuckin' interrupt me," Pete says when Patrick's mouth pops open, probably in order to clear his name of whatever suspicious reasons Pete's conjuring up as to why he's here.

 

"I'm going to my room, you can sleep on the couch--" "Where is the couch?" Patrick cuts him off, eyebrows pulled together in frustration and Pete lets a smirk curl upon his lips. "Downstairs," and Patrick blanches in response, mouth still dropped open as a cracked note creeps out.

 

"Do you not have anymore couches?--like just one?" Patrick demands and Pete shakes his head, smirk spreading wider across his face, "Nope, you made the decision to be here, deal with it," Pete shrugs before spinning around to trot down the hallway leading to his room.

 

He stops for a moment and turns back to say, "Blankets are in the storage room, door to the right--one you y'know make it down to your personal hell,"

 

Patrick scowls at that, and it appears as if he's about to retort but in the end resigns himself and whirls around in a huff and begins to shuffle down the wooden steps, a grimace pulling at his face with every creek from the pressure of his feet.

 

Pete blinks for a couple of seconds, watching, and then scrambles over to his room, his room being the escape haven he so desperately needs--a giant necessity to his head space and everyday life right now.

 

Hopefully Hemmy doesn't kill Patrick or anything like that--not because he cares about Patrick's well-being but because he'd rather not deal with the mess in the morning--ugh, Hemmy's a good dog, friendly and whatever, Patrick's fine...

 

Unfortunately.

 

Pete just needs to attempt at getting some sleep, at least fucking try.

***

It has to be at least three in the morning and Pete wants to die, he's been writhing and twisting in his sheets for several hours and he can't sleep. he's got that sense of loneliness he can't bear to ignore.

 

In turn he usually sleeps with Hemmy, but he wanted Patrick to be tortured for a bit, which backfired because now he's feeling tortured.

 

He managed to fall asleep for a short period of time, although ended in a strange nightmare he can't remember clearly, a hook comes into his mind, but that's about it.

 

He's considering the move of throwing away his pride in order to just be able to sleep, it doesn't even have to be long--like he'll take twenty minutes at this point.

 

So he sits up in a swift movement and throws his blankets off him in a huff to stand up on his still wobbly knees.

 

He's weak-willed and he needs something or someone in order to tame the chaos that he never has the power to deal with. Well, he could, but he'd rather not.

 

So he finds himself creeping downstairs and he was planning on just taking Hemmy and going on his merry way.

 

But as he sneaks, hunched over and tiptoeing, he manages to step on one of Hemmy's squeaky toys, fuck. Why doesn't he ever clean?

 

Cue a groggy groan erupting and the slight squeak of the couch's frame in protest of movement as Patrick sits up, "Pete?" He asks, masked in a yawn as he covers his mouth with his hand.

 

"Or demon," he finishes and Pete really can't help the snort that he gives and Patrick definitely notices it.

 

"What are you doing?--I'm pretty sure it's not time for work--wait am I wrong, fuck--" Patrick begins to ramble however Pete cuts him short, ha, get it, short. Ha. Okay it's not that funny, he's short too, he knows that, but Patrick is shorter and that's why it's funny, alright?

 

"No, I came down here to get Hemmy," Pete mumbles, walking past the hat-less other and yeah if Pete had no dignity--He has some okay, not a lot, but some--he'd totally be crooning over how cute Patrick is at the moment.

 

With his matted down hair and strands soaked and stuck to his forehead by a thin sheen of sweat and from what Pete can distinguish through the darkened basement though dimly lit from a small night light Pete forgot he even had, Patrick's reddened cheeks.

 

Pete's sure he mirrors this, at least he's assuming from the heat flourishing within his own cheeks.

 

And Pete's just gonna ignore the way Patrick's thin shirt sticks to his chest from said sweat and just ignore the glisten of it on his fair skin and okay, what is he doing? He came down here for his dog, not to describe every jaw-dropping detail about a flushed and splotchy skinned and seemingly barely awake Patrick Stump.

 

Pete grits his jaw tightly at this, he sounds like some thirteen year old with a crush--He absolutely--positively--does not have by no circumstances--a god damn crush.

 

"Hemmy?" Patrick asks, voice rough and scratchy and that shouldn't send a tingle of pleasure down Pete's spine, but it does and Pete couldn't be more angry about it.

 

He's weak.

 

"The dog," Pete murmurs softly and then continues his search.

 

"The dog?--not that I'm in protest to you extracting the demon from the basement, but why?"

 

"He's not a demon," Pete says, huffing angrily. "he's friendly and it's because I usually--uh, I...He sleeps with me."

 

"Oh," Patrick replies, voice softening. "Well, why don't you just lay down?"

 

"What?" Pete arches an eyebrow, craning his neck back to scowl at Patrick, which in turn only ensues a shrug of Patrick's shoulders.

 

"Lay down."

 

"On the couch?"

 

"If I'm gonna break my back, you might as well join me," Patrick grins and Pete only glowers. "Besides I'm cold."

 

"Is that your argument?" Pete asks and Patrick simply nods. "How do I know you aren't gonna do--weird things to me in my sleep?" Pete continues, giving a wiggle of his fingers to emphasize.

 

Patrick strikes him an odd look, pursing his lips. "You don't," He laughs and somehow Pete melts at it, he doesn't like this, he doesn't want this.

 

But here he is shuffling towards the couch and hopping down on the cushion next to Patrick.

 

"I don't like you," Pete says quietly, fidgeting with his hands as his eyebrows furrow and Patrick nods yet again.

 

"Likewise, punk."

 

And Pete's not sure how any of this happened but now he's lying on his side with Patrick behind him and they're sheathed beneath a large enough blanket to cover them both.

 

They set some ground rules though, which is no touching and definitely no fucking grinding--Pete might have set that particular one--and Patrick protested at first and it seemed to be in a joking matter, but Pete can't be too sure.

 

Don't risk it.

 

That's his number one rule for himself, don't fucking risk it.

 

Don't risk anything.

 

He'll never put his heart on the line.

 

At least...not now.

 

So in this moment, in these minuscule minutes--tiny seconds of chipped away time, counting down until there's nothing left--he's just gonna forget about everything and sleep.

 

Just sleep, he's not at all too comfy, but the sound of gentle--soothing breath behind him, skittering across the nape of his neck in heated huffs calm him for some reason.

 

Just knowing someone else is there puts him at ease instead of being constantly restless.

 

And within the night an arm decides to wrap around Pete's middle and a nose plants itself within the junction of his shoulder, while a firm chest presses up against his shoulder blades.

 

It's comfortable...and Pete likes it...

 

For now.

 

_That's all that matters right?_

 


	10. Over and Done with as Life Has Repeatedly Said to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You waited 10 days for this emo trash, I apologize in advance.

Pete finds himself in a problematic predicament when he comes face to face with his panting English Bulldog sat right in front of him as he's sprawled across the couch and, oh god there's a tongue licking at his right cheek, ew.

 

There's a hand splayed across his middle, fingers tickling the skin of his stomach and warm breath creeping over the nape of his neck. To which he recalls some ground rules and one being no fuckin' touching. However he has a feeling rules never stopped Patrick's wishes.

 

_Wishes._

 

And after Hemingway gets tired of the taste of Pete's sweaty face and Pete attempting to ease him away with minuscule pokes because he's a sucker for his dog and it's always been a difficult job to deny Hemmy of anything, Pete attempts to wiggle out of Patrick's grasp.

 

Several muted curses and groans of discomfort albeit sounded by Patrick from Pete's movements later, Pete's still trapped and Patrick's hold seems to be tighter.

 

To sum things up Pete's finding it hard to breathe right now and he has no clue if it's Patrick's grip or just the situation at hand.

 

"What the fuck." Pete says, more as a statement than an actual question and Patrick snuffles into his neck in response.

 

Patrick has to be one of the heaviest sleepers Pete's ever had the distressed misfortune to come into contact with.

 

"Can you just--" Pete gives an exasperated breath, wriggling some more and he gets the odd sensation as if he's a worm, but lacks in the slippery attribute they excel in. He could honestly benefit from that at the moment.

 

This gives him a chance to gain some thoughts of a jumbled metaphor for how this relates to his current relationship with Patrick. Pete tries to be slippery, tries to pick flight instead of fight yet he's at a loss with his cards every time.

 

Pete was never too good with card games after all.

 

He's sure he's out of them nowadays.

 

The plan is over-- _he's done._

 

Pete slumps onto the couch defeated, blowing a stray strand of hair out of his face in frustration and then kicks his feet out which results in a pained sound escaping Patrick.

 

Whoops.

 

And...He's still not awake, nice.

 

Whatever, Pete's giving up, he's out of fight and he can't obtain the effort to even consider flight, so he'll stay and relax, sleep.

 

He feels sick to his stomach, like his intestines have twisted themselves up into knots and it's still a difficult challenge to accumulate enough oxygen to not be worried about his physical health.

 

He'd worry about his mental health too but he's given up on that situation also.

 

Flight isn't an option.

 

He wants to sleep.

 

He'll kick Patrick out later.

 

And then he drifts off to his personal abyss, or is it a darkened tunnel? Guess he'll just have to find his way through.

 

If he has enough time.

***

Pete's eyelids flutter until they're fully open, however he continues to blink wearily and squint at the sudden bright because the lights are on for some stupid reason, reason's probably Patrick, stupid. And then said Patrick comes into Pete's view...getting dressed might he add.

 

"Um," Pete says, and wow, when did it get blistering hot in his basement? He shifts in the blankets and tugs at his shirt to relieve some of the um--uh, heat. The heat overwhelming his already damp with sweat body.

 

His eyes focus in on Patrick's fingers buttoning up, well were buttoning up his black and white flannel although not completed and flashing a patch of light skin and Pete licks his lips unconsciously at the sight.

 

It takes a few seconds for him to notice Patrick's snapping his fingers in front of his face and he reels back, eyes widened.

 

"Jesus, can you not--"

 

"What did Jesus do?" Patrick interrupts, grinning. "I hope you don't mind but we overslept and it's currently twelve o'clock--"

 

"You're kidding," Pete groans, bringing a hand up to cover his face, clearly in distress. "Fuck."

 

"Not that big of a deal, I called and informed Andy of what happened, so nobody's getting fired anytime soon...Well, hopefully."

 

"Hopefully," Pete repeats miserably, glaring at the pillow in front of him and developing the kind of urge to punch it as if it's Patrick's face--his stupid attractive face.

 

"So..." Pete mumbles, quite awkwardly if he's one to judge and Patrick arches a brow at him, fingers still frozen upon the buttons of his shirt.

 

Pete's hoping he fuckin' fixes that damn shirt some time soon, before he dies and yeah that sounds melodramatic but he's not being dramatic at all--he's going to die.

 

" _Sooo_.....?" Patrick replies, eyebrow still raised directly at Pete and Pete isn't too happy with this situation, hasn't been happy with any of these situations lately, god damn it.

 

"Uh, why are you getting dressed--right in front of me?" Pete asks, narrowing his eyes and Patrick lazily shrugs a shoulder in response.

 

"You were asleep for one thing and two I'm leaving," he says simply, his eyes cast downward and Pete stares silently while Patrick continues his said task with his clothing.

 

"Aren't you supposed to drive me to work, y'know to get my car?" Pete reminds him, eyebrows furrowed, bemused.

 

Patrick pauses and looks at him, eyes containing something Pete can't seem to place and Patrick cocks a hip that sudden inscrutable emotion turning into a near-like anger blazing and he grumbles out, "Why not get your boyfriend to do it?"

 

Pete rolls his eyes, struggling to get up for he's tangled within at least three layers of blankets and the previous sweat formed within the night cools on him within the basement air.

 

No wonder he's soaked honestly, from that combination of blankets and body heat and Pete holds back a shudder from the memory. It was nice, but he'd rather not admit that right now.

 

"He's not my boyfriend and you're an idiot."

 

"He's not your-- _who the fuck is he then_?"

 

"Why does it matter?" Pete questions, rather suspicious with his arms crossed and his nose raised in an indignant manner.

 

Patrick immediately opens his mouth to retort however quickly resigns himself and shuts it, gritting his jaw before he whirls around and proceeds to stomp up the stairs.

 

"It doesn't," he growls out and Pete has to strain his ears to hear the slight rumble of fury lined within his words.

 

"Whatever!" Pete calls, flailing his arms and then slumps them back to his sides, letting out a large breath.

 

This shouldn't be so confusing.

 

"Why are emotions so hard?" Pete asks to no one in particular, you could say he's talking to the dust collecting on the glass table beside him, but is it gonna answer him? That's the real question.

 

Pete waits a few seconds, gazing at the molecules of dust coating it before frowning.

 

"Nope," he sighs, and then jumps when the sound of knocking surrounds his eardrums.

 

He swiftly kicks into action and scurries up the stairs to answer the door--before Patrick, that's the last thing he needs right now.

Oh.

Well, this is awkward. Very awkward indeed.

Turns out he was too fuckin' late and Patrick, horrible house guest by the way, opened the door, and there's a visibly shocked Brendon standing in the doorway.

 

"Oh-- _heeey_  Brendon," Pete greets loudly as Patrick stands there, hand still attached to the doorknob, his expression darkened and practically a glowered state.

 

"Um," Brendon responds, shifting his weight and glancing at Pete uncomfortably until his eyes widen and his jaw drops open.

 

He pushes past Patrick quickly and grabs a hold of Pete's arm--wait what's he doing, oh--okay now he's yanking Pete away to who knows where.

 

"Brendon what--" Pete makes a pathetic attempt to actually figure out what the fuck is happening.

 

However Brendon smashes that attempt with the line of, "Shut up, you dumbfuck."

 

"Rude." Pete mutters, giving in and letting Brendon drag him away to the--bathroom, really? That's not gonna be suspicious at all--then again Brendon just yanked him off without a second thought and that's pretty unusual so.

 

"Why are you here?" Pete asks as soon as Brendon shoved him into the room and locked the door behind him.

 

"I brought lunch 'cause I care, also I wanted to make sure you weren't dead," and then Brendon jiggles a paper bag in front of Pete's face.

 

"Why the fuck is the fedora serial killer here?"

 

"I thought he wasn't--"

 

"I don't know man."

 

Pete doesn't really know what to say or how to make sense of this entire situation--if it doesn't even make sense to him how the fuck would he explain it?

 

"Uh."

 

There's a whole lot of um and uh's coming from everyone today.

 

"Uh," Brendon repeats, "dude."

 

"I know--actually I don't, Patrick's just, I don't know...here?"

 

"Why?"

 

"I sort of fainted yesterd--" Pete begins and Brendon immediately cuts him off with a sharp intake of breath.

 

"What."

 

"I--"

 

"What."

 

"Brendon--"

 

"Did you take your pills?" Brendon asks, tapping his foot against the tile, and Pete mouth drops open as he fumbles for yet another explanation--quite helplessly.

 

After a few seconds Brendon huffs impatiently and his nostrils flare. "Pete," he warns and Pete sighs.

 

"No."

 

Brendon clucks his tongue and shakes his head. "Pete--"

 

"Look, okay, I am fucking fine...Patrick was just--" Pete fumbles once again, stumbling over more reasons as to what happened, he doesn't even remember all that much, it's just a big blur in his head.

 

"There...?" Pete ends lamely and Brendon snorts.

 

"You're a liar, but that's okay, Joe and I are on Pete watch now though." Pete's eyes widen in horror.

 

"No, no, no--fuck no."

 

"Yep."

 

"Anything but Pete watch."

 

"Pete watch." Brendon insists, grinning widely--oh my god what a fucking sadist.

 

Pete hates--despises--ugh--Pete watch, it's so terrible, they've done it a million times--didn't actually inform him of it either.

 

So when they walked in on him jerking off that was an...experience.

 

"It's not a bad dick," Brendon had said.

 

"You both suck." Pete whines, wiggling and a pout isn't forming on his face or anything like that--doesn't pout,  _okay?_

 

"You love us."

 

"You're still douche bags."

 

"You roped us into seducing Patrick so--"

 

"That was your idea--" At that Brendon glares at Pete and he raises his hands in surrender. "Just sayin'"

 

"It was a joke, you ass," Brendon groans and Pete grins, wiggling some more.

 

"You suck at jokes too, leave it to the pros."

 

"Are you say--this conversation is going absolutely no where and your victim--or abuser is just standing out there--holy shit."

 

"What do we do--wait, he was gonna leave."

 

"Why the fuck are we having this conversation then?" Brendon asks and Pete looks at him stunned.

 

"Oh, I don't know." He says loudly, "Could've been my friend seizing me and dragging me off like a fucking rag doll to the bathroom, who knows really."

 

"Who knows." Brendon nods and unlocks the door. "So the plan--" He starts and Pete tries to cover his mouth because guess what, there's a Patrick standing across the hallway looking so adorably yet horribly confused.

 

"Plan?" He asks and Brendon freezes, and Pete would normally laugh at the robot-like stiffness of it but this is a bad--bad thing, somebody help. Anyone but Brendon.

 

Seriously.

 

"Uh." Pete says--again, and Brendon chews at the inside of his cheek before announcing, "Well, I'll y'know leave you two be," he fidgets for a moment and then pats Pete on the shoulder.

 

"Good luck." He whispers into Pete's ear.

 

_What a dick, holy shit._

Pete is a dead man.

 

"Plan?" Patrick asks again and Pete stares. "Yeah, it's um, personal."

 

_Well it is._

"I heard my name," Patrick scowls and Pete is at a loss for words.

 

"Okay, so--um, funny story right, you're gonna laugh," Pete is such a failure how the fuck is gonna explain this?

 

Wow, now that he thinks about it, this plan was horrible and wrong--and just what the fuck was his motive?

 

_Revenge?_

 

Well it started that way, and then he actually wanted to get in Patrick's pants, and now it's different, he doesn't fucking want in Patrick's pants...Well, he does, but it's more than that.

 

"This better be the best joke I've ever heard then, start talking."

 

Wanna know what the best joke is? Pete.

"Well, uh--so, after you glued me to that chair, wow, remember that? Hilarious." Pete forces out a laugh and Patrick narrows his eyes.

 

"Yeah--Dude," he says, clearly telling Pete to hurry the fuck up and get to the point already.

 

"Okay please--please don't kill me when I tell you, seriously promise."

 

"I'm not promising anything, but I don't plan on going to prison so no death will--probably happen."

 

Probably really doesn't assure Pete of his safety, but he brought this on himself.

 

"The plan was kind of an attempt to get revenge--"

 

"What the fuck was the plan then?" Patrick growls, stressing the words loud enough for Pete to flinch and he's is trying okay, he's fucking trying.

 

"To seduce you," he mumbles quietly-- hoping Patrick didn't hear him, but from the deafening silence he's sure Patrick definitely did hear him and shame pools at the pit of his stomach.

 

"Seduce me." Patrick repeats, and his voice--it sounds so, well, disappointed. Completely disappointed and that really sends a knife through Pete's heart, and it barely feels as if blood is even pumping throughout his body-- _but why?_

 

Why does he feel like this?

 

"As a fucking joke?" Patrick continues, words hissed into a whisper and he sounds so hurt and Pete feels so fucking awful. He's a horrible person and he doesn't deserve Patrick even if Patrick's a dick, he's worse.

 

"No!--well, it began that way."

 

"You fucking played me--what the fuck do you mean it began that way?!"

 

And then it happened, Pete blurts out shit he never wanted to say at all--he never knew, never even thought--

 

"I was angry! Pissed off that you did that and humiliated me, I wanted to get back at you, but--I'm attracted to you, you're fucking hot you asshole!"

 

"I--you're attracted to me?"

 

"You gave me a fucking hand job in the middle of a meeting--"

 

"I apologized for that--"

 

"That's beside the point--Jesus fucking--it sort of developed into a plan for a one-night stand kind of and--"

 

"And?" One more push and Pete breaks.

 

He lurches forward and seizes Patrick's collar, tugging him forward and crushes their mouths together and Patrick groans in pain, however it's stifled from the pressure and Pete pulls back just as quickly as he hurled himself in.

 

His breath is hard and wrecked and his chest is heaving, barely even a peck and it still sends him into a fit.

 

"I like you!--but I fucking dislike you, I don't know!" Pete shouts and covers his eyes with the palms of his hands. "I...hate you...and yet..." And his voice breaks off.

 

Thankful for the fact that he's covering his eyes because he can feel tears welling up in his eyes.

 

He's so fucking confused.

 

Fists gently circle around his wrists, forcing his hands away from his face and then a mouth presses softly to his own.

 

Pete eagerly kisses back, and his arms wrap around Patrick's shoulders, fingernails digging into the flesh of his back and Pete feels Patrick exhale hotly against his face in response to the abuse upon his skin.

 

Patrick's arms grab at Pete's waist and he licks into his mouth and their teeth clink clumsily together and that should be a turn off, but it really only succeeds in making a ball of warmth construct within his chest.

 

And just as it begins to get well, um, hot--for Pete at least. Patrick breaks away and stumbles back.

 

"I--I need to leave--I need to leave--" Patrick grinds his jaw angrily and shakes his head in frustration before running out.

 

"I'm sorry."

 

Pete swallows hard and more tears threaten to fall down his face and then there's Brendon pulling him into his arms and hugging him tight.

 

"I'm confused."

 

"So am I."

 

"He kissed me." Pete mumbles into Brendon's shoulder and the other hums quietly in response. "Twice."

 

"Weird." He says and Pete nods, "Mm."

 

"He's a douchebag."

 

"So am I, more so than him, it's over though."

 

"Over?"

 

"Over and done with, this plan was a bad idea, completely stupid and I want to blame you sooo much." Brendon snorts and squeezes him. "Ow."

 

"Ow your heart or ow your body?"

 

"Both."

Everything may be completely insane and a chaotic mess--nothing really changed--but Pete's not even gonna question anything. Let the wind guide him, if he ends up in a ditch well, guess that's just his fate..

 

This is his ditch.

 

He doesn't really feel like crying right now.

 

"Can you drive me up to work to get my car?" Pete whispers and sniffs slightly. Brendon nods and begins to gently lead him to the front door.

 

Fuckin' Patrick couldn't even help him get his car.

 

Whatever this is his own fault.

 

_Pete's done._


	11. Lonely, depressed, and not even well dressed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler, and really lame, but that's okay, Brendon and Joe my babes will make up for it.

f only saying he was done was that easy. Patrick's still on his brain, albeit it's only been a few days, but Pete's not really happy about not being able to just put a smile and act like everything's peachy.

 

It's not peachy, it's bullshit and he's angry, but not at Patrick, at least not fully.

 

Pete grits his teeth, hissing out a sharp breath before kicking at the rubber duckling sitting on the edge of the tub to which he resides in. Okay, he sort of feels guilty after, whatever it was totally judging him, with it's suspicious rubber baby blue--why the fuck does everything seem to remind him of Patrick, honestly... _hats will never be the same._

 

Neither will Popsicles, Pete never really liked Popsicles anyway...ha, that's what he said about Patrick, look what happened...Then again Popsicles probably won't give him a hand job in the middle of a business meeting...probably.

 

Even shadows remind Pete of Patrick, literally just shadows, just because Patrick was practically a shadow himself, always hidden behind a stone-like exterior until he truly wanted Pete to see him. Pete's not even sure if he ever saw Patrick like actually  _saw_ him.

 

This was supposed to be a fucking game, but Patrick twisted it and flipped it, broke it into tiny little pieces until he could make it into his own. Exactly the way Pete's heart felt in that moment, that kiss. Twisted and flipped, and it was Patrick's to have, to hold,  _to break._

 

Pete's out of lives, Patrick took them all away. He'd say it's a game over waiting to happen, but the way that sounds doesn't settle right in his skin, makes him feel gross, dirty, like his insides are being tangled and dangled and he doesn't like it. Not one bit.

 

And within this depressing and gloomy rant, Pete's starting to wonder whether or not there's a black void assembling around him in the form of his personal pit filled to the brim with  _nothing_. Simply nothing at all. Why would there be anything?

 

_What's the point?_

 

Pete's eyelids fly open, bubbles spilling from his nose as he realizes the fact that he's underwater, can't even remember the point in time of when he went under. He struggles to sit up, until he surges from the bath, hacking and coughing, and then he's shivering because the water's somewhat tepid, only just warm yet still chilled.

 

A knock on the door sends a jerk through him, and in these few seconds he's still coughing up lukewarm liquid, which isn't very pleasant. At all.

 

"Pete...?" A hesitant voice calls, and Pete kind of wants to sink back into the waves he caused and die.

 

"Dude, you alive?" Oh, it's Brendon and Joe, Pete watch is still horrible by the way.

 

"I'm in the bath, and sort of alive." Pete mutters, raking his fingers through soaked strands and oh, the door's being opened, well...that's fine.

 

"What are you two assholes doing?" Pete demands, while sitting in the middle of a fucking bath tub, naked, and yeah, they've seen him naked before, but god damn it. No.

 

"It's not like any of this is new, we all have dicks." Brendon shrugs and Pete attempts to splash him to which the other skitters out of the way. "I don't want mine on display, thanks." Pete growls and Joe snorts. "You sure?"

 

"Just because I accidentally sent you that nude that one time doesn't mean--"

 

"Can we not discuss that," Brendon pleads and Pete glares before grumbling out "Can you two idiots  _leave_?"

 

"Nope, don't worry we're not looking at your dick, or at least I'm not," Brendon says, plopping down upon the edge of the bathtub.

 

"Yes, because I'm totally staring, what a sight," Joe comments quietly, and begins to walk towards them, but steps on something and the small squeak that erupts from it really informs Pete of what it was.

 

"Is that a rubber duck?" Brendon asks in a dull tone and Joe arches an eyebrow.

 

"No." Pete shakes his head.

 

"It--"

 

" _Shhh_...Joe be a dear and throw it away." Pete wants it gone, he's gonna end up throwing every object in his house away, and some being the fact that Patrick touched some of them. The couch is being thrown out first. Or burned. Burned.

 

"But why--"

 

"Do not question me while I sit in cold water, naked might I add--again, pissed off, and feeling quite fucking vulnerable." Pete hisses and Joe waves a hand in Brendon's direction. The gesture seemed to tell Brendon "Alright let's leave, he's not dead, we're good."

 

He wasn't really planning on dying, not at the moment no, came pretty close to drowning though.

 

Brendon gives him one more glance, narrowing his eyes and Pete involuntarily curls in on himself from the intensity of the gaze.

 

"Pete we care about you, don't do anything stupid."

 

And Pete can say he's actually offended, he wasn't planning on doing anything but angsting for a few weeks in his own personal bubble, and maybe he'd even go off to find a rebound fuck, whatever takes his mind off the first. The first wasn't even a fuck. Not wholly  anyway.

 

"I wasn--" Pete begins, but Brendon's already following Joe out the door and then said door is closing shut and he's left alone again...

 

With that fucking duck,  _oh my god_ , it's just staring at him with those soulless and  _judging_ eyes, Pete's very uncomfortable. Whether it's from the cold water, or the eyes that resemble the color of Patrick's he's not sure.

 

"I'm burning you first," Pete mutters, a grimace forming on his face.

 

The duck only continues to stare, it's quite sinister really. Reminds him of a special  _special someone..._

***

And now Pete's dressed, somewhat, he's without a shirt, but that's not abnormal, it's quite ordinary really. he's got a fuzzy towel wrapped around his shoulders and he's trudging out of the bathroom only to be ambushed by the two idiots who * _rudely_ * interrupted his bath.

 

"And he resurfaces!" Joe cheers while Brendon claps in his face. Ugh.

 

"Guys honestly...how long until this is done?--Because I'm fine, seriously." Pete sighs, curling in on himself once again. Brendon gives him a skeptical look, chewing the inside of his cheek before shaking his head.

 

"Even if you are fine, you still need us around to brighten your days so you don't fall into your whole 'lonely, depressed, and not even well dressed' state." Brendon points out and Joe nods. "We know what you do Pete."

 

Pete knows what he does too, doesn't really stop him from protesting any help, he's sick and fucking tired of being a burden.

 

"I..." Pete starts, but cuts himself off with a deep intake of breath and it almost feels like he's breathing in broken shards of glass, his throat is tight and dry and he isn't fine.

 

And then the "idiots" are bringing Pete in for a hug and he doesn't even try to break away or wriggle out of the grip, he actually pushes into it, snuggles and hums full of content.

 

They might be idiots, but they're his idiots.

 

He's also an idiot, but he already knows that.

 

***

 

Pete's got his head resting gently against a table as Brendon and Joe talk about nothing, it all sounds like static to Pete's ears, but then again so do his thoughts. He feels like he's in high school again, that entire overwhelming sensation of teenage angst and he's turned it into a science, it's become his outer shell.

 

And then there's a finger poking at his left cheek,  _what the hell._

 

"Can you stop?" Pete mumbles in a bored tone, it's not really bothering him, but he'd rather not have a finger just prodding at his face all day.

 

"Checking to see if you're alive still." Brendon grins and Pete frowns.

 

"I can assure you I am."  _Somewhat_.

 

"I'm not too sure, you're like a zombie, which means you're undead...not really alive..." Brendon says, wiggling his fingers in distaste and then Joe's imitating a zombie, groaning the word brains repeatedly and Pete would laugh, but his face doesn't want to move right now.

 

"The only reason I'd be eating brains is because I'm in dire need of some," Pete breathes, tightening his crossed arms and shoving his face deeper within them.

 

"Well that's kind of rude," Joe says and Brendon laughs loud and horribly obnoxious. "Pete do we need to go buy ice cream for your broken heart--"

 

"That's actually not a bad idea," and then Pete's sliding out of the booth and shuffling over to the diner's bar and then flops himself down onto one of the stools. He orders a chocolate milkshake, because chocolate is a necessity in his life right now and he's an adult. Nobody can tell him no. Well they can, but he doesn't have to listen. He makes his own choices damn it.

 

And while Pete's tapping his fingers against the counter, shaking his legs to the soft beat blaring from the speakers above him he suddenly feels eyes on him, burning into the back of his skull. He squints his eyes in question, a shiver running up his spine and he shudders. However ignores the presence looming behind him in hope that it will disappear soon, but then someone sits next to him.

 

A familiar pale hand slides up beside his and places a key down on the marbled surface of the bar's counter. His house key...Fuck. Pete then snaps his gaze towards the one man who's been making his life hell for months. Patrick. His blood runs cold, his stomach churns and he squirms in discomfort upon his seat.

 

It's not anger Pete's feeling, no urge to break any plates, throw a tantrum and kick his feet furiously, or just plain seethe and hiss at Patrick like a fucking snake. He's truly just frightened at of what's to come and while his heart's either racing or it's imploded from the rapid pace and stopped completely Patrick gives him a soft grin... _What?_

 

"Hard day at the office?"

 

_You have no fucking idea._

 


	12. Dance With me Through the Flames of Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a lame chapter aND I'D SAY IT'S RUSHED BUT LIKE 12 CHAPTERS I DON'T KNOW IF YOU CAN CALL THAT RUSHED.

"Chocolate, huh? I've never been much of a chocolate fan..." Patrick murmurs thoughtfully, tinkering with the straw to said shake and Pete gawks, mouth agape, imitating the looks of a fish. Patrick shoots him an odd look, arching a brow.

 

"Close your mouth sweetheart, you'll catch flies," Patrick says, sliding a hand around Pete's jaw and shutting it for him.

 

Pete's confused once again and currently pondering over the fact of how Patrick has the ability to turn him inside out and read him like an open book, somehow deciphering the scrawled handwriting that is Pete's thoughts within themselves.

 

"...What are you doing here?" Pete says, eyes widened into large circles and mouth clamped down into a straight line.

 

Patrick's nose wrinkles in distaste at the monotone in Pete's voice and sighs. "I came to apologize for running out--"

 

"Why would you apologize?" Pete demands, roughly shrugging Patrick's hand off of him. Not in disgust but in a way he thinks he doesn't really deserve the touch, it's delicate and soft, and definitely not the kind of treatment he thinks should be sent his way.

 

Patrick cocks his head and exhales an irritated breath. "I-um...might have left things a bit unclear for you and I wanted to explain myself...Maybe scold you a bit," he chuckles, but Pete's surely not laughing. His brain seems to be disconnected like he's losing grip on reality and he's unsure on how to react.

 

Pete settles with just inhaling deeply and nodding. "Explain," he says, simple and smooth, but Patrick's mouth falls open, though no sound leaks out.

 

"I'm not really prepared," he starts and a snort escapes Pete. "Holy shit, don't laugh at me--okay, I was kind of expecting to be flat out rejected at least three times."

 

Pete hums, stealing his shake from Patrick's flimsy grip and taking a gulp, though cringing at the chilled taste upon his tongue before replying with "I'm curious, what can I say?"

 

"Well...You hate me," Patrick states and Pete blinks, frowning.

 

"That's putting it bluntly," Pete comments and Patrick gives a wave of his hand to which Pete assumes it's to shut him up, so he gives a shrug and goes back to sipping lightly at his drink.

 

"But you like me and in some weird way I understand...?" Patrick breathes out the words, clearly thinking aloud, although he ends off in a question, unsure.

 

Pete doesn't know whether or not he's to answer or stay silent.

 

"Understanding doesn't mean you feel the--" Pete starts however he's interrupted when Patrick makes a disgruntled noise, waving his hand in another gesture. "I'm not finished--I understand, but that's because I think I might feel that way too...our introduction wasn't the best of times, but--"

 

"Yeah...sorry...about that, uh.." Pete flashes a guilty smile, and Patrick mimics it, a slight gleam in his eye. "It's like a hate-like sort of thing..." Patrick trails off, before coming back with just as much vigor, "I'm still pissed, but...I'm going to admit...something," and Pete leans in closer, lips still wrapped tightly around the straw and Patrick's eyes flick down for a moment before he gives Pete a glare, though filled with no heat.

 

"I knew," Patrick mutters, casting his eyes sideways and giving a slight cough.

 

Pete sputters, half choking on his drink. He knew chocolate would be the death of him, just not in this way. "You what?!" he shrieks, drawing the attention of several curious eyes within the diner.

 

Patrick hastily covers his mouth, seizing the shake and placing it back on the counter. "Quiet!--my god, okay look, I heard--I heard you three idiots talking about some type of "plan" horrible idea by the way--" Patrick lets out a startled yelp of pain when Pete bites into the meat of his palm.

 

"You're fucking here aren't you?" Pete retorts and Patrick scowls. "I didn't find out in the beginning," He says, "and--okay, seriously don't laugh at me, but I honestly thought Brendon was your boyfriend--I might have known about the plan, but I missed a whole lot of details...obviously."

 

And then Pete's laughing loud and obnoxious, it might be on purpose just to relish in Patrick's embarrassment for once.

 

"Keep it up and I'm going to have to make things interesting," Patrick drawls, hand creeping over suspiciously towards the chocolate ice cream and Pete has just enough time to interject with "Don't you fucking dare."

 

"What?" Patrick asks, lips curling into a smirk as he takes a sip and hums in thought. "This isn't horrible, reminds me of you actually."

 

"Fuck you," Pete huffs, crossing his arms. Patrick knew--he knew, but... "Why--why were you so angry then--why'd you demand me to tell you?" Pete asks, and then immediately wants to slap himself. He knows it's a stupid question, any normal person--not that Patrick is normal, but anyone would be pissed, however Patrick saw it coming, so why?

 

"I...don't know?" And the words are spoken quietly, dejected and just plain confused. "It just...hurt more to hear it face to face I guess, I wanted a fucking explanation," and at this Pete instantly feels like shit, their relationship didn't exactly start off wonderful.

 

Pete was a dick. Patrick was a twelve year old. Getting glued to a chair was a thing that happened, but Pete didn't exactly help the ordeal with writing out some humiliating plan with mischievous intent that some douche bag in high school would come up with.

 

"I'm sorry," Pete whispers and Patrick nods. "I know, I heard you the first time."

 

"I just want you to believe it," Pete says quietly, voice shaky and the words trembling. Patrick's eyes blur for a moment, going misty as he glances at Pete until he gives himself a slight shake. "This isn't actually my explanation," he confesses and Pete tilts his head, beckoning him to go on.

 

"I ran out because I was--I don't know, I'm not really good at words, but I understood, like I was confused, and when I don't know what I'm up against I run--" and then Patrick cuts himself off with "Oh my god, that was the lamest thing I've ever said, Jesus." Pete chokes back a laugh as Patrick continues."I guess I'm just sorry I didn't explain why I...k-kissed you." Patrick says, choking the last few words out as if they physically hurt him to speak, or  _remember_.

 

"Oh," Is all Pete responds with and Patrick gives him an exasperated look, as if to say "Really? That's it? That's all your giving me?"

 

"I'm thinking, shut your mouth fire crotch--"

 

" _Fire crotch?!_ " Patrick explodes. "Out of every fucking argument we've had  _fire crotch_  was never used!" What a way to ruin the moment, Pete thinks to himself. "But is it true? Does the carpet match the drapes--"

 

"What does  _that_ have to do with anything?" Patrick growls and Pete shakes his head in return.

 

"Everything," he insists.

 

Patrick narrows his eyes and then grunts in annoyance when Pete flutters his eyelashes. "I've changed my mind, I don't like you, your insults are atrocious and I'm embarrassed for you."

 

Pete clucks his tongue and kicks his leg out to  _softly_ nail Patrick in the shin to which the latter grumbles out muted profanities and attempts to kick Pete back.

 

"Who said it was an insult?" Pete asks, slapping the other's leg away and Patrick purses his lips. "Y'know this isn't why I came here."

 

Pete's silent for a long moment, until he asks probably the most important question he's ever asked in this life. Okay--that's dramatic, however Patrick has a knack for making him dramatic.

 

"Why are you here?"

 

Patrick doesn't answer, doesn't speak a word...But he does lean in and it's not slow, it's not gentle, it's rough and unexpected. Pete groans in pain when Patrick's teeth clink against his own into a rough yet  _pleasurable_  kiss and then a tongue's sliding into his mouth, and he can't help the way he moans when it flicks across his own in a soft stroke.

 

" _Patrick_ ," Pete gasps, pulling away. "Stop."

 

"Pete--" Patrick tries, appearing a tiny bit put off by the sudden cease to their unfortunately very brief kiss.

 

"Not here," Pete shakes his head and then glances around, definitely noticing the eyes upon their up close and personal frames, dark and judging, which reminds him of his rubber duckling. The one he probably won't burn... _Probably_.

 

"If not here then somewhere else?" Patrick asks, leaning forward with hope in his eyes, in his voice and Pete really doesn't want to crush it, but...

 

"This is a bad idea Patrick, I--"

 

"We're a bad idea...however I don't see the harm in trying it out--" Pete gnaws at his bottom lip and his jaw tenses when Patrick trails a finger down his cheek.

 

"It'd be like having a picnic on the sun," Pete mumbles and Patrick laughs softly, brushing his thumb across Pete's mouth.

 

"Then dance with me and we can get burned together."

 

_**Together**_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Appreciate my lame titles pls
> 
> xoxo~That-one-person-who-tries-too-hard
> 
> Aka~me


	13. Rivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT SMUT SMUT, IT'S KIND OF RUSHED AT THE END AND I'M SORRY! I hope you still love me ya lil sinners.

Pete attempting to escape the clutches of Joe and Brendon didn't slide across too well. He didn't really explain...kind of just walked up to them. Told them he left his cat in the oven. Obtained questionable looks for that certain consolidation of words. Realized what he said. Panicked for about two seconds. Attempted to retrieve himself from the pits of hell. Succeeded, but not really. Actually escaped.

 

Well...he ran, but that's not important.

 

What is important is Patrick standing on his porch, whistling an odd melody, while tapping his fingers against his thigh. Pete's chest feels tight and he chews at his bottom lip. Grimaces at the fluttering feeling in his chest reminding him of bats more so than butterflies.

 

Patrick hasn't quite noticed him as he's lying against Pete's front door, eyes closed as wind sends a gentle gust of air throughout the hair peeking out from underneath his hat. The corners of Pete's lips rose at the sight and he padded up the steps before cocking his head, somewhat narrowing his eyes.

 

Pete leans in close, blows gently on Patrick's ear resulting in the latter's eyelids snapping open in surprise and he whispers out, "What's up fire crotch?" Patrick's appears to be affronted for a moment before he shoots Pete an annoyed look and puffs out an irked breath.

 

"Fuck you," Patrick said, giving a dry chuckle and shoving Pete away from him. Pete then smirked, wiggling his hips slightly and moving in closer once again. "Isn't that why we're here?" He asks and Patrick gasps, eyebrows flying upward when a hand ventures downward and squeezes his crotch.

 

Pete takes another step forward, close enough that he's now sharing breath with Patrick. he can feel the warmth of every minty exhale and he hums in question. "Mints?" Pete observed, tilting his head and admiring the way Patrick's Adam's apple bobs when he swallows thickly. "Patrick did you expect a kiss?"

 

"I expected several, actually," Patrick retorts in a confident, but shaky voice, eyes set a blazed and cheeks flushed to a deep red. Pete then feels hands slide over his hips, nearly digging into the bones and something somewhere deep inside him purrs. Or maybe he does it aloud from the sly grin splitting Patrick's face.

 

Pete makes a disgruntled noise before perching his lips and pecking Patrick on the nose. He wasn't really expecting Patrick to yank him forward and press their lips together once again, but he melts into it all the same. His body's jittery and twitchy from the thrill, the anxiety in his bones. It's a simple kiss, a clean press until Patrick moves his mouth, and Pete quickly follows.

 

It turns into a lazy make out, tongues and all. Patrick has tricks hidden beneath that hat of his, he licks and bites, but Pete retaliates with his own. After all he's always been a biter.

 

Patrick lets out a yelp of pain when Pete sinks his teeth deep into his bottom lip. "Ow! You fucker--that is definitely  _not_ sexy."

 

Pete snorts out a braying laugh when Patrick pushes him off and crosses his arms. A frown pulling down on his lips. "What the actual he-- _mhpph_ \--" Pete cuts Patrick off, leaning in eagerly once again and kissing him. Patrick sighs softly against him, before wrapping an arm around his waist. His other hand reaching back and his fingers scrambling to find the doorknob.

 

A muffled noise of victory escapes Patrick when he finds it and his hand turns, opening the door, and then they're stumbling backwards. Noisy and hoarse laughter escaping the two. Patrick shoves a hand into Pete's back pocket, kneads his fingers roughly and Pete's laugh turns breathless, a whine erupting from the back of his throat as he ruts against Patrick's thigh.

 

"Yo-you're like a fu-fucking dog, I swear to god," Patrick groans, pulling away to bury his face into the junction of Pete's neck and inhales deeply. Pete's feels his adrenaline spike, stomach churning, heart flopping.

 

"So do you have the actual balls to punish me?" He hisses and then gives a shrill cry when Patrick bites into his collar bone. Fingers tangling within strawberry strands, sending the hat atop of Patrick's head cascading to the floor.

 

"O-oh, so that's how your hair looks without a hat," Pete murmurs and he can feel Patrick smile against his skin. "It's k-kind of more blonde than I expected."

 

Patrick pulls away and stares at him for a long moment. "Are we really talking about my hair color right now?" He asks and Pete shrugs. "You should be flattered it's so interesting to me." Patrick rolls his eyes in response. "Or freaked out," he says under his breath.

 

"So who's taking their shirt off first?" Pete blurts out and then he says, "Oh." Patrick stifles a laugh and mimics his previous shrug. "I don't know, let's take turns," he suggests. "But who goes fir--"

 

"Not it."

 

"Patrick."

 

"Shut up Pete, now take off your damn shirt." Pete doesn't necessarily pout at this, he just kind of sulks for a few seconds. A little put off by the fact that he won't immediately see Patrick's chest, but hey they're taking turns...Patrick's gonna have to lose the denim jacket and the too baggy shirt eventually.

 

And the pants...Don't forget the pants.

 

"Fine," Pete answers in a croak, grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging it over his head, quick and easy. He hears Patrick's breath hitch and he looks up. Patrick's eyeing him over from head to toe, his darkened glance more so focused on his tattoos than anything else.

 

"I didn't know you had..." Patrick begins and Pete puffs his chest out, toothy grin on full display. "Well, y'know it's not very professional, but..." He trails off when Patrick traces a finger over the tattoo covering his pubic bone.

 

"What is it?" Patrick marvels and Pete shivers from the gentle slide of his fingertips. "Um, I--It's a Bartskull?--" "It's kinda ugly," Patrick comments and Pete scowls. "Why thank you Patrick, you sure know how to treat a guy," Pete deadpans and Patrick sputters.

 

"No--I mean...it kind of suits you?--wait no that sounds--fuck, y'know what fuck you, but not  _fuck you."_

 

"Yeah...Can you? I'm getting impatient here," Patrick scolds him for a moment and then shrugs off his jacket, dropping it to the floor and then does the same with his shirt, albeit it's with slight hesitation. Pete's mouth goes dry at the sight. A vast amount of flushed and pink blotchy pale skin meeting his eyes and the urge for him to lick it is almost overwhelming.

 

"You're...." Pete starts and Patrick crosses his arms, shoulders fidgeting uncomfortably. "So fucking hot," Pete finishes and Patrick's eyes widen before he quickly covers it up with a smirk. "I know, now pants."

 

"Y'know there's a thin line between confidence and cockiness..." Pete drawls as he unbuckles his belt, shimmying in an attempt to escape from his pants. he ignores how Patrick snorts at the way he's tugging on his too tight jeans. Hurtful.

 

"Need help?" Patrick proposed, lending a hand out to which Pete slaps away. "Definitely cocky." "Yeah, sure I'm cocky, but maybe you should unbutton them first." Oh.

 

"My bad."

 

"Too excited?"

 

"Fuck off."

 

 

***

 

 

The door to Pete's bedroom slams open as Pete's shoved into it, luckily landing on his bed, although he doesn't really stick the landing and he ends up on his stomach with a mouthful of pillow. Hands are then running over and gripping at his thighs, maneuvering him.

 

"God.." Patrick whispers, "I--Do you have lube? Condoms?" Pete takes a couple of seconds to translate what was just said to him, even longer to come up with a proper answer that isn't just a incomprehensible mumble of nothing. "Yeah--yes, bedside table--middle drawer." Pete inhales deeply when Patrick's fingernails scratch over his inner thighs, sliding up to smooth over his ass.

 

"...Really? Who do you use them with?" Patrick asks, a grin lined within his words. Pete tries to be mad, he really does, but it's sort of impossible granted his current situation.

 

"Not Brendon if that's what you're suggesting--Fuck!" Pete yelps when one of Patrick's hand's retreats and then comes back down, palm smacking him hard on the ass. "Holy shit," Pete mumbles, going lax and sighing at the feeling of a stinging warmth circulating from the harsh blow.

 

"No jokes right now, got it?" Patrick says into his ear and it's a demand not a request. So Pete nods. "Good...Now I think you deserve at least ten strokes." Oh. "Wait what--" "Safe word?" Safe word? Pete can barely function at the moment so he ends up blurting out the first word that pops into his brain. "Gemini."

 

"Two faced, huh? Not surprised."  _Rude_. "Ten strokes Pete...Count 'em." And then Patrick's bare hand's coming down again, and Pete yelps out the number one. Again and again Patrick's hand connects to already reddened meat of Pete's ass. 

 

Every impact of Patrick's palm sends a spark throughout his entire frame. He's sure his brain's already went kaput. Blew a fuse and short circuited.

 

The blows seem to be everlasting until Pete sobs out the number nine and Patrick's hand slows to a stop. "...Pete?" He asks gently and Pete blinks, breathing hard. "I t-thought y-you said ten," he chokes out and Patrick snorts. "Technically it was ten."

 

 "Fuck you and your technicalities--" And then with one last sting of Patrick's hand, Pete's turned into a whimpering mess on the sheets. "Eleven," Patrick whispers, before shifting to retrieve lube from the bedside table.

 

Pete flinches when he feels cool slicked fingers at his ass and a hand spreading, squeezing his already abused flesh to which he whines pushing back into it. 

 

"You," Patrick begins on a growl, working a finger into Pete, not giving enough time for him to adjust before he adds another. "are such," He continues, licking his lips at the sight of Pete open-mouthed and moaning as he pushes and slides down on said fingers, fucking himself. "A goddamn slut," Patrick finishes with a dark grin.

 

Patrick pulls his fingers out, shifting over to rummage through the drawer again and Pete shoves his face back into the pillow, closing his eyes. 

 

He can hear a soft chant of " _Condoms_ ,  _condoms_ ,  _con_ \--Yes!" and he stifles a laugh into the cushion until he makes out the noise of a wrapper ripping open and--oh. Everything suddenly hits him, Patrick's here--they're gonna have sex and...it's gonna be fucking awesome.

 

Pete jumps when he feels something large, thick press against him--definitely not fingers, he lifts his head and gasps, throat raw as Patrick pushes in. "Holy fuck--" Patrick's face scrunches up, twisting into a pained expression. "Why the fuck are you so tight?" He groans and Pete squeaks in unison with the bed's frame when Patrick bucks forward. Hard. "M-maybe you're fucking huge--ever think about that?"

 

"Nope, but feel free to--" Patrick starts, but cuts himself off with a grunt and he curls an arm around Pete's middle. He jerks his hips and Pete claws at the blankets, whining in the back of his throat which turns into a sob when Patrick hits a certain spot within him. Patrick pauses, rotating his hips in gentle circles causing Pete to repeat his earlier movements and buck himself backwards. "Don't fucking tease--what the fuck--" Patrick smothers a laugh into the skin of his shoulder.

 

"Y'know I've been waiting to tear you apart."

 

 

***

 

 

"We have to take a shower sometime Pete." Patrick tells him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Pete sighs, snuggling further into Patrick's chest. "Quiet." The previous kiss turns into a flick and Pete attempts to bite said finger...which results in another flick and Pete pouts, yeah he pouted, he'll admit it, but forgive and forget, right?

 

"So like what are we?" Pete asks after a long moment, nose wrinkling in instant regret, but all Patrick does is chuckle in response. "Rivals," he says, like there's a deeper meaning lined within the one word. Pete gets it though, he understands. "Okay," he whispers, wrapping himself tighter within the duvet around them.

 

"Thank Brendon for leaving my door unlocked," Pete mutters sarcastically and Patrick arches a brow. "Actually thank him because we would've ended up having sex on your porch if he hadn't."

 

And the first thing that leaves Pete's lips is, "What would we have used for lube?" 

 

"Really," Patrick replies, expression unimpressed. Pete loves it, and he smirks. "Your tongue," Pete answers his own question in a seductive tone, grinding softly against Patrick. The other's eyes darken and he gives a sharp grin. "We could do that now," he suggests and Pete nods his head eagerly, pressing their lips together.

 

And just as it's getting heated, the door to the bedroom swings open and Pete lurches back, taking cover beneath the blanket. " _I knew it!_ " A familiar voice crows. Familiar voice being Brendon, of fucking course. "Brendon are you kidding me?" Pete growls, peeking his head out from within the blanket.

 

"I'm not, but I came here for my coat," he says, scooping up said coat. "Joe totally owes me twenty dollars...Well, see you fuckers later!" And then he's gone, slamming the door shut and Pete stares after him, eyebrows furrowed.

 

"Why did I think he was your boyfriend?" Patrick asks in an awed voice, narrowing his eyes and Pete shrugs. "You're an idiot."

 

"Because you're not, right?"

 

"Point."

 

Pete then gasps loudly and Patrick gives a near jump, eyes slightly widened. "What?" He sighs, irritated and Pete grapples at his shoulders.

 

"Question, okay so, why did you transfer?" Pete's finally gonna find out that one little, tiny, minuscule question...Now that he thinks about it, he never really cared. It was totally an excuse to complain about Patrick, _honestly_.

 

"Oh..." Patrick mumbles, and Pete grins, jiggling in excitement and radiating with a sense of child-like curiosity. He still wants to know, whether or not it wasn't the true reason as to why he cared so much about Patrick and what the dude was like. Suspicious or not.

 

"I had this  _absurd_ rivalry with one of my coworkers..." Patrick begins slowly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the end you guys, what a ride, HOPE YOU ENJOYED -a single tear- (there might be more y'know like oneshots maybe c;)

**Author's Note:**

> what'd ya think


End file.
